The Mentalist: Red Tape
by Donnamour1969
Summary: 4th in my Season 3 AU series. Jane and Lisbon's budding relationship takes a major hit in the trust department.  Can they overcome it? Rated T/M for language and sexual content.  Conclusion is now up! No copyright infringement intended.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Welcome to the fourth installment of my AU series, set in season three. It's not totally required that you've read the other stories, but you certainly are welcome to go back and start with "Red Ryder." I'll try to catch you up a little along the way, but you newbies should know one important detail before proceeding: Jane and Lisbon are together, but keeping their love secret. This story takes place post-"Red Queen," so LaRoche is in charge now, and things are a little less predictable for our CBI team.

The results of the informal poll I took after "Royal Blood" showed a tie between my continuing this series and adding to an old episode tag I wrote for "Jolly Red Elf." So, since that poll didn't give me a definitive answer (thanks to those who voted), I chose to begin this one, since the first scene that follows popped into my head yesterday. Those who voted for JRE, don't despair. I promise to come back to that idea in the future. I still hope you like this story. I'm looking forward to continuing it.

**Red Tape, Chapter 1**

"You're not peaking, are you?" asked Jane, looking critically at Lisbon. He waved a hand before her blindfolded eyes, just to be sure.

"You can stop waving your hand. I swear, I can't see."

"Then how did you know I was waving my hand?" he asked suspiciously.

She sighed. "I felt the stirring of the air when you did that. Plus, that's usually what people do to test if someone is blind."

He grinned. "Very good. See, you are already utilizing your other senses. The purpose of this exercise is to hone your observational skills, to allow yourself to stretch out with your feelings."

He watched her lips twitch in amusement. "No, Obi-wan, the purpose of this exercise is for you to fulfill your weird fantasies and get your jollies at my expense."

Jane's eyes swept slowly down from his grinning lover's sensual lips to follow the lines of her beautiful, naked body, and he couldn't deny the truth of her claim. She lay on his bed, spread trustingly before him, his fantasy come to life. He took a moment to admire the view, to indulge in the wonder that was Teresa Lisbon. Her bones were small and delicate—her clavicle, the hollow at the base of her neck, her slim fingers, small feet and toes. But belying her petite frame, Lisbon was also made of lean, strong muscle, finely toned arms and thighs, her abdomen clearly defined from the two hundred crunches he watched her do every day. After five months of exploring, Jane was still not the least bit tired of just looking at her.

"Jane?" she inquired, after his extended silence. She reached out and touched his bare thigh to reassure herself that he was still there. He broke out of his reverie and suddenly became all business. He got up from the bed, and she heard him walk to his closet.

"Hang tight, Lisbon. Your instruction is about to begin."

She heard what sounded like the creaking of wicker, heard Jane drop something on the floor beside the bed. She felt the give of the mattress as he returned to sit beside her.

"What's in the basket?" she asked.

"That's right; it _is _a basket. Very good, Lisbon. The contents of said basket will challenge your perception as you guess the identity of each item, through every sense but sight. Now, are you ready for item number one?"

"Please, proceed," she said mimicking his scientific tone.

He smiled at their dry banter, and brought out her first test—a fluffy ostrich feather. He started by tickling her neck a little, then swept it back and forth across her breasts, encircling her navel, then sweeping down her right thigh. Jane was tremendously enjoying her little cringes, wiggles and barks of surprised laughter, for it did heavenly things to her body. He decided to end with a soft tickle on the bottoms of both feet.

"Stop!" she said breathlessly, for he knew through past experience that her feet were extremely ticklish. "It's a feather, okay? Stop!" Her giggles subsided, and she relaxed once more.

"Very good. Now, the next one is not so easy."

"No more feet tickling, Jane, or this test is over."

He sighed indulgently. "Your feet could play an important role in an investigation, Lisbon. Don't discount the value of any body part, even what seems to be the least significant."

"Well, next time I'm barefoot in a dark field of feathers, I'm sure your training will come in handy."

He _tsked _indulgently, then brought out item number two. It was a silk scarf, and he delighted in rubbing the smooth material over her arms and legs.

"That's not hard; it's silk. I have a robe like that."

"Well done. Item number three." It was a long-stemmed rose, fully opened. He ran it along the inside of her thighs, watching with a tightening of his groin at how the muscles there trembled in reaction. He then traced it up her side to her chest, the soft petals caressing her as he'd done with his fingers on many occasions. She smiled in pleasure.

"A rose." She caught his wrist and directed the flower to her nose, inhaling. "By the scent, I would say it is…pink."

"Impressive. I didn't realize there was enough difference in the scents of each rose color to identify them so specifically."

"Now, who's the master?" she said proudly.

He chuckled, putting the rose back and bringing forth item number four. From a fair distance he dropped small drops of sandalwood scented massage oil, making a trail from her chest, between her breasts, down her stomach, finally, filling her navel to the brim. The oil was cold, and she twitched as each small splash hit her naked torso.

"It's obviously oil," she said, and she preened happily when he couldn't resist using his hands to blend in the smooth substance, both of them enjoying the feel of her slick skin beneath his hands. Their breathing had increased a little by the time he was done, but he resisted climbing atop her and ending the game right then.

"Next," he said, and she grinned when his voice broke a little and he had to clear his throat before continuing. And so it went on, as he experimented with a scratchy pumice stone, the leather fringe of an old western vest he'd found in the back of his closet (she couldn't get him to admit where _that_ had come from), an ice cube (that one took much longer than he'd planned), and a swatch of fake rabbit fur. Lisbon guessed them all, as Jane knew she would.

But lastly, he came to the _pièce de résistance__. _He took a bite of the object, enjoying the sweet juice in his mouth. Without warning, he rubbed the fruit on the tip of one breast, and she gasped in shock at the coldness and the strange new texture. He moved to her other breast, circling around the areola before lightly flicking the nipple. His pulse quickened as he watched the juice turn her small, high breasts even rosier, the coldness tightening the dark pink buds. She was panting a little, squirming at the erotic sensation. He removed the small instrument of sensual torture and brought it to her slightly parted lips, tracing them with the fruit, and he trembled slightly as her tongue came out to taste.

"Oh," she exclaimed softly in delight,"a strawberry." He held it against her lips and she leaned forward slightly as he slipped it into her mouth. She took a bite, her lips pressing against his fingertips. He swallowed loudly as she chewed, then licked the residual juice off his fingers. This proved a bit too much for Jane's self-control.

"Lesson over," he growled, nearly pouncing upon her and devouring her strawberry flavored lips. He was just about to see if her breasts tasted as sweet when Lisbon's cell phone rang. They both moaned in simultaneous frustration, as he reluctantly moved off of her and she sat up, pushed up her bandanna blindfold, and reached for her phone on the bedside table.

"Lisbon," she snapped into the receiver, her arousal making her voice much gruffer than she'd intended.

"Agent Lisbon," came the soft tone of their new unit director, J.J. LaRoche. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

She rose and grabbed her bathrobe, feeling a little creepy talking to the man in the nude even though of course, he couldn't see her. Jane closed his eyes and ran his hands through his already tousled hair.

"No, sir. I'm on call, after all. Is there a new case?"

Due to California's economic problems, especially in funding state agencies, a decision had come down from Gale Betram that a week's forced vacations would be necessary to cut down on the cost of utilities, transportation and salaries. If a case arose that local police couldn't handle, members of the CBI would be called to come in.

Lisbon lived to work, but Jane encouraged her to look on the bright side. They would have an entire week off together, making love, eating home-cooked meals, watching old movies, making love…It didn't take much to persuade her. So now, on day four of their furlough, just when they were beginning to feel comfortable being together twenty-four-seven, LaRoche had to call with his own particular brand of controlling, passive-aggressive behavior.

"No, Agent, no new case, but I would like you to come in to my office as soon as you can, if it's not an imposition, of course."

She shot a disgruntled look toward Jane, who shook his head in annoyance, empathizing with her completely once he'd figured out who was on the other end of the line.

"It's something we can't discuss right now?" she asked, praying that he would save her a trip and let her get back to all the lovely possibilities the rest of Jane's bowl of strawberries presented.

"I'm afraid not," he replied in his usual dry monotone. "You see, I used everyone's absence to do a thorough spring cleaning of our offices. It seems something troubling was discovered in the attic, a location never meant to be used for workspace, by the way. And since Jane is a frequent visitor to that part of the building, it makes the discovery even more disturbing."

"What did you find?" she asked, a bad feeling unaccountably increasing her heart rate. She looked again at Jane, who was pulling on his pants in resignation. At the worried sound in her voice, he met her eyes, a fearful knot in his gut at what he saw there.

"I'd prefer we not talk about this over the phone, Agent Lisbon."

"Please, sir. I really don't like surprises. You can count on my discretion."

"Even if this involves your colleague, Patrick Jane?"

"Yes," she said, her voice nearly a whisper.

"Very well. We found an unregistered gun in the attic. And I'm afraid it has Jane's fingerprints on it."

She closed her eyes, words of denial dying on her tongue. "I'll be right in, sir."

"Thank you, Agent Lisbon. And I trust you won't discuss this with Jane."

"Of course not," she said, knowing it was a lie.

She broke the connection and stood looking at the man she loved, so beautiful as he stood before her, shirtless and vulnerable, claiming to love her, but still keeping secrets.

"Where the hell did you get a gun, Jane?"

TBC

A/N: Well, nothing like a bit of love and lies to start out a fanfic, eh? For the record, I don't want Lisbon to discover Jane's hidden weapon on the show, at least not yet, but I needed something that would challenge their new-found relationship in this fic, to test them, and see if they can come out okay on the other side. That's what this story is about. Don't worry, it won't be _all _angst and drama, but there definitely will be some of that, interspersed with some comic relief along the way. Thanks for reading. I encourage you to log in and let me know what you think, because that encourages me!


	2. Chapter 2

**A friend told me there was some problem with allowing you to read this chapter. I hope this try gets through! Sorry for any inconvenience.**

A/N: Sorry for the delay with this chapter. It really ate my lunch, let me tell you. There's a reason I don't write angst that often. Thanks to all who have reviewed and favorited so far. Welcome to chapter 2.

**Chapter 2**

He could have lied; it was his first instinct. But by the look on Lisbon's face, he was well and truly caught, so lying would just make things worse. No, the best thing to do was to fess up and face what he'd done.

"From Max Winter," he said simply.

She regarded him, and it hurt him to see her doubt, to see her CBI training in lie detection directed at him, even though he knew he deserved it.

"Why?"she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

She was remembering the man whose wife had been brutally murdered, how he'd bided his time waiting for the murderer to go free so he could kill him himself. Their stories had been full of similar woe, and Jane had jumped at the chance to find out if it had been worth all the plotting and years of patience. Winter hadn't hesitated in saying that yes, it had been worth it. Winter claimed to have the peace now that Jane so desperately needed in his life, and he'd gotten it by using a gun. What's more, he'd gotten away with it. That's why Jane had kept the gun.

But despite Jane's resolution to come clean about it now, he hesitated. His own desire for revenge had been the biggest, most fundamental difference of opinion that he and Lisbon had. It was the reason for his secrecy about the gun and for his other secrets regarding Red John. He realized suddenly how foolish he'd been to think that they could just ignore this and have any kind of personal relationship.

"That man understood me, Lisbon," he said at last. "He knew my pain. He gave me a gift he felt would help me deal with it."

She smirked derisively, ignoring the twinge that he'd been able to connect better with a murderer than with her.

"A gift? That man got away with murder. Is that what you want for yourself? You want to use that gun to kill Red John and get away with it? Because that's what it says to me."

"Let me explain—" he began, but she was on a roll now.

"You know what else it says to me?" She moved closer to him, her small stature suddenly seeming to loom over him. "It says that you don't give a damn about risking your life for that twisted quest for revenge that is still eating you up from the inside. It says to me that you are still keeping things from me. After all we've been to each other, you still don't trust me. Admit it."

"Teresa, I—"

"Admit it!" Lisbon demanded, and he could feel her warm breath in his face now, could see the way she was trembling with barely restrained emotion.

His hands went up to her arms. "I trust you with my life," he bit out desperately. "But when it comes to Red John, well, I _can't _trust anyone, understand? If I'm gonna stay one step ahead of him, my only weapon is knowledge, information that he doesn't know I know. If I tell you things, he will find out and make you a target, to get to me." He swallowed hard, his heart pounding as it did whenever the serial killer's name was spoken. "He killed my family when I merely pretended to have knowledge of him. Do you think he'd hesitate to kill more of my coworkers if he thought you knew something concrete that would help identify him?"

She was unmoved. She'd heard this argument from him before, and while she would always feel his pain when it came to his loss, his reasons behind keeping her in the dark were totally unacceptable, not to mention completely illogical.

"What things?" she asked, calmer now that she knew they were just revisiting familiar territory. Jane let go of her arms and turned away. Of course, she would latch on to the one thing he'd said that he hadn't intended to.

"What do you mean?" he asked, hedging.

"You know damn well what I mean! What things do you know that could identify Red John?"

"Nothing," he answered immediately. "Don't you think if I knew who he was that I would have gone after him myself?"

"Yes," she said, "I suppose you would. You'd disappear one day, gun in hand, with not a word to anyone. And then you'd leave me to find you. I'd walk into some strange place and see a bloody face on the wall, and I'd have that feeling of dread, and I'd—" A sob bubbled up into her throat, unbidden, as they both pictured the terrifying image she'd created for them. Forcefully, she swallowed it down. "Don't do that to me, Patrick. Don't make me have to live with that same horror that you live with every day…Tell me what you know, so I can help you."

"You mean, _stop_ me," he countered, feeling manipulated. She could argue with him for a thousand years over this, but she would never convince him that killing Red John wasn't the answer. Red John had no intention of killing _him_, of this he was certain. Jane was being used for the madman's pleasure, in Red John's quixotic desire for a nemesis with whom to have an epic battle of wits. After all, he could very easily have killed Jane when he was strapped to a chair, ripe for the gutting. No, Red John would much rather kill or otherwise victimize those who got close to Jane, or to discovering his identity. The man was all about the torture.

"Yes, I intend to stop you. I was a fool to think that loving me would make a difference." Her hands came up to her face, wiping away the frustrated tears she hadn't realized had fallen. "But it's changed _me_, Jane. I'm more determined than ever that you not get yourself killed or thrown in prison, because now I have more to lose than just a valuable consultant."

His eyes softened as he looked at her, standing in his bedroom in her green terry cloth robe, her face tear streaked and resolute. He moved closer to her, reaching up to touch her face. She flinched a little in response, still upset with him, obviously.

"Loving you _has _made a difference," he told her softly. "For the first time in years, I actually look forward to a new day. I'm sleeping better. I don't feel alone anymore." He pressed his lips to her damp cheek. "You make me happy. I never thought I would have that again."

Lisbon couldn't deny that he had changed, that his bouts of depression were now rare and short-lived. But the changes hadn't touched the dark part of him she couldn't reach, the part of him that she instinctively knew hid all kinds of secrets and lies.

She moved away from him and turned to the chair where her clothes lay, shrugging off her robe and allowing him a beautiful glimpse of her backside. "I'm glad you're happy Jane. Now tell me what you're keeping from me." Her emotional progression had run through anger, hurt, fear, and accusation and settled now on coldness. He wished they could skip back to anger; he knew better how to deal with that.

He watched in silence as she put on her undergarments, then pulled on the same jeans and brown t-shirt she'd had on last night. She slipped on the loafers beneath the chair and turned to face him. He considered her request, and wondered, if he _were_ about to share, what secret he would start with. Red John's quote from William Blake? Bosco's last words? Johnson's? How Minnelli gave him LaRoche's list of murder suspects? Or maybe the latest—his faked hostage ordeal with Hightower and his subsequent aid in her escape? He shook his head, throwing each one out in turn. She interpreted his movement as a response, and she heaved a great sigh and walked into his bathroom, nearly slamming the door, but catching it at the last minute. Jane grinned. She always did the right thing—precisely why he wouldn't tell her anything he knew. For both their sakes.

She emerged a few minutes later, face washed, hair brushed, her expression now blank.

"Where are you going?" he asked, but of course he knew. He was just making conversation, trying to maintain the connection that he felt was about to slip away from him for good.

"LaRoche wants me to come in, no doubt to discuss why my consultant would be keeping an unauthorized weapon on CBI premises. I'm sure he's going to reiterate all the accusations he's made about you and your suspicious behavior, maybe even speculate that you were a co-conspirator in the Johnson murder."

"What are you going to say?" he noted that his monotone reflected hers exactly. How had it come to this so abruptly?

"What _can_ I say, Jane? Nothing. Because I _know _nothing. Thanks so much for all that great deniability you've given me." He guessed she'd reached the sarcastic stage now. She moved past him and he followed her to the living room, where she grabbed her purse and blazer jacket from the coat rack by the front door.

"I'm sorry," he said, because that was what one said in these situations. Jane _wa_s sorry, but not for keeping this information from her. He was sorry that he'd hurt her, that he would more than likely lose her now. It didn't mean he was giving up, however. She loved him, which meant she was still vulnerable to his charms. That improved his odds considerably, but it would take some major planning and finessing to make her forgive him. She just needed time to think, to—

"I'm sorry too," she replied, and from the look on her face, she meant those words for different reasons also.

"I love you," he tried, looking into her blank eyes with all the feeling he could flood into his own. She blinked rapidly, so he wouldn't see her eyes watering, and turned toward the door, letting herself out. She didn't return the sentiment, and it tore into his heart, literally stealing his breath for a moment. He caught the door before it closed behind her.

"Will you call me later? Tell me how things went with LaRoche?"

"I don't know," she said, and continued her walk to the parking lot. Jane watched her until the SUV drove out of sight, then closed the door and leaned his head against the cool metal.

He wasn't surprised that this had happened, had expected it, really. The past five months had been so good with her that looking back on it now it could have sprung from his imagination. But it hadn't; it had been very real. They'd kept their affair secret—well, from everyone but Cho, and he wasn't talking—had managed to build their relationship to heights he'd never thought to reach again. He loved her passionately, and she was his best friend. He couldn't let that go without a fight. But it wouldn't be easy. He'd known she suspected him of hiding things for some time, but that damn gun had been concrete proof of it. It was a good thing he'd brought his journal home, which he had since they would be out of the office for a week, and it was snug in its hiding place, where not even Teresa Lisbon could find it.

A thought suddenly struck him. That bastard LaRoche was to blame for all of this. He'd waited until they were all out of CBI Headquarters, with no likely chance that he'd be interrupted. Jane could picture him now, pawing through his things in the attic like the bulldog he was, sniffing out anything incriminating to hold against him. He'd probably even wagged his stubby tale when he'd found the loose floor board underneath a stack of crates in a dark corner. And he would have had a wondrous moment of _Eureka! _when he'd discovered that Patrick Jane actually had hidden an unregistered weapon. How suspicious. How nefarious. How exactly what LaRoche had expected of a misanthrope such as Jane.

_Well, it takes one to know one, you busybody son of a bitch!_

And so it was that Jane realized that his war effort would have two fronts-win back Lisbon and overthrow LaRoche. _Make that __**three **__fronts, _amended Jane. For, once LaRoche was out, his battle with Red John would need a new commander. Someone Jane could trust to make sure the focus of the unit remained squarely on Red John, and not on the members of the unit themselves. Someone like…a certain drunken fisherman who really wasn't ready to retire.

A/N: I am always very uncomfortable writing angst, but for the sake of character development, I had to get them out of their comfort zone, out of the fairy tale world I'd created for them in the last few stories. Reality strikes back in this one. I promise it won't be all about the angst, and Jane has a plan now. Please sign in and let me know if you like where this is heading.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So sorry there were apparently problems with this site when I posted chapter 2 on Sunday, so if you haven't read that chapter yet, please take the time to go back and do so. This chapter hopefully moves the plot along a bit. I hope it's not too dry for you. Oh, and special thanks to BFangz, for his wonderful technical advice.

**Chapter 3**

Lisbon sat in her car in the parking lot of CBI Headquarters for a full ten minutes before going in to face LaRoche. At first it was to get hold of herself after the painful confrontation with Jane, but then it was to muster up the courage to go in there and try to defend him to their boss. She didn't know how she was going to do that. She was so hurt and angry that part of her wanted him to be punished for keeping things from her, and it was even tempting on some level to ask LaRoche if he knew what else Jane might have hidden, so she'd have the pleasure of punishing Jane in her own way.

Lisbon took a deep, cleansing breath, let it out, then resolutely got out of the car and walked into the building. It was strange to see the place so vacant on a weekday, and as she got out of the elevator on the floor housing the Serious Crimes Unit, she felt her heart pick up speed, unaccountably nervous. She paused outside Hightower's old office, a wave of longing nearly overcoming her. She still missed her old boss, still felt that somehow what had happened with her had to have all been a mistake. How could she have so completely misjudged a person? Hightower had been so much more tolerant of Jane's antics, and Lisbon would have been able to convince her that he hadn't meant any harm in owning a gun. But it wasn't Hightower in there anymore, and she had to face the harsh reality that was LaRoche.

She tapped on the closed glass door, and the big man motioned her inside with his stubby fingers.

"Agent Lisbon," he greeted. "Please, sit down."

She did so, and noticed immediately the wooden box on his desk.

"Is that it?" she asked. He nodded. "May I see it?"

He opened the hinged lid and slid the box over to her. It was a Colt .45 in a presentation case, very expensive.

"Oh," she said nonchalantly. "This must be the gun he got from Max Winter."

LaRoche's eyebrows rose. "You knew he had this?"

"Yes sir," she lied. "I didn't realize he'd kept it here. It was a gift after he'd helped solve a case a few months ago. I should have reminded him to take it home."

He eyed her as she sat there, guilelessly looking back at him. She could almost see the neurons in his brain firing as he pondered the truth of her words. "You know that all weapons on CBI property need to be registered and accounted for, correct?"

"Yes sir. I'll be sure to have him take care of that." She reached over to pick up the box, when LaRoche snapped it shut, just missing her fingers. His hands rested possessively atop it.

"Thank you, Agent, but I'd like to talk to him myself, if you don't mind."

"Uh…no sir. Of course." She stood, wanting—_needing_—to get out of there as fast as she could. "Is there anything else, sir?"

"No Agent Lisbon. Enjoy the rest of your time off. I'll see you back here Monday."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir." She turned back toward the door, but just as her hand rested on the knob, his soft voice reached her ears again.

"One more thing."

She stopped, her heart pounding wildly because she'd almost made her escape. She looked over her shoulder. "Yes, sir?"

"Did you talk to Jane about this?"

"Absolutely not," she replied, without hesitation. "You ordered me not to."

He nodded once, but still looked suspicious. "Very good. Good afternoon, then."

"Good afternoon, sir."

Lisbon left his office as casually as she could, suppressing the need to run as fast as she could to the elevator. She'd done it now; lied to LaRoche for Jane. Put her job in jeopardy yet again. For Jane. She made a decision right then that she would demand the truth from him, give him an ultimatum if she had to. He could keep his secrets, or he could keep her. She hated to have to do that to him, to _them_, but if she was going to risk her job _and _his life, the least he could do was tell her what was worth risking everything for.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Mr. Jane. This is J.J. LaRoche. I realize this is your vacation, but it is imperative that I speak with you in person. Please come in to HQ as soon as possible. Thank you."

The message ended, and Jane pocketed his phone. He stood in the empty parking garage beneath the CBI Headquarters, waiting for the pit-bull to leave for lunch. An obvious idea struck him, and he pulled out his phone again.

"LaRoche," answered the man after the first ring.

"Yes, J.J., Patrick Jane here." It amused Jane to call him by his incongruous first initials. "I got your message, but I was just about to go out to lunch. Since it's about noon, you're due for a break, aren't you? Could we meet somewhere, two lonely bachelors who have no one at home to pack our lunches with chicken salad?"

Jane could almost see the slightly ironic smirk on the man's thin lips. Given the topic of conversation, Jane wondered at first if he'd be refused, but he'd guessed correctly; LaRoche was intrigued by the suggestion. "Sure…where do you have in mind?"

Jane mentioned a restaurant overlooking the river, a place that would take at least thirty minutes to get to in lunch hour traffic. That should be more than enough time…

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Earlier, Jane had parked his car two blocks away and walked in through the front gate of the property, nodding pleasantly to the lone guard, telling him he'd felt like walking today. He saw that Lisbon's car wasn't in the outside parking lot, so she must have left already. So now, inside the parking garage, it was just a matter of waiting for LaRoche to come down in the elevator and drive away in his late model boringmobile. Truly, the man had no imagination.

Jane stood up from his hiding place behind a company SUV. He knew where all the cameras were in the building, knew it was pointless to try to avoid them, so he simply walked casually off the elevator, then through the halls, pretending he was supposed to be there. He walked past Gale Betram's office, past the camera mounted unobtrusively in the alcove by his door. Out of camera range, Jane stood on the chair beneath it and reached up to pull on one of the wires as hard as he could. There was a slight give, and he was pleased to see the light atop the camera go dim. He took out a handkerchief and wiped off the places he'd touched on the camera and the wall beside it. With one last look around, he successfully picked the lock and went inside.

Jane walked past the secretary's empty desk, then picked the lock to Bertam's interior office door. Several more lock pickings of filing cabinet drawers, and Jane pulled out J.J. LaRoche's personal file. It was surprisingly thick. Jane glanced at the clock on the wall, then wiped up behind him and made his way out of the building, file stuffed inside his dress shirt. He walked swiftly back to his car. He had a lunch date to keep.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

LaRoche had obviously been waiting awhile at the restaurant, and Jane was very apologetic, using the ready excuse of traffic. He couldn't tell if the unit director believed him or even if he was annoyed; his face rarely changed expressions. Jane felt a little like he was flying blind with him. He shrugged internally. _It just makes reading him more of a challenge._ He gave his boss a blinding smile of greeting.

"Please, sit down, Mr. Jane. I already ordered for myself, I hope you don't mind."

The waitress arrived and Jane ordered a cup of tea and a club sandwich.

"So, what's this all about, J.J.?" A slight downturn of his mouth did show that he likely didn't care to be on a first name basis with him.

"We did some spring cleaning of the CBI offices," he began, getting right to the point.

"Oh? I look forward to a fresh, aired-out office on Monday. Nothing like clearing out the cobwebs," Jane commented cheerfully.

"Yes. Well. In the process of this cleaning, we found your gun in the attic."

"Gun? What-? Oh!" Jane put on a stricken look, as if he'd forgotten all about it. "You mean the gift from Max Winter? Yes. I wasn't aware that would be a problem. One never knows when one needs to defend oneself, does one? Lord knows, if I'd been closer to it, maybe I could have avoided being taken hostage by Hightower."

LaRoche was silent a moment, picking up his iced tea and taking a considering sip. Jane watched as _he _watched Jane, evaluating, processing. Sort of like a robot.

"Have you ever spoken to Agent Lisbon about this gift?"

"No. Should I have?"

LaRoche shook his head, and he almost smirked. Jane had the dreadful feeling that he'd failed some sort of test. "Of course not," LaRoche replied. "All of this was a misunderstanding, I see. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, however, but you are no longer allowed to occupy the attic. Your bedding and other personal items are stacked on your desk—_downstairs_. The attic is for storage purposes only. Security informs me that it isn't safe for you to be up there. There are a few loose boards that could be a safety hazard. We wouldn't want you falling through the floor, now, would we, Mr. Jane?"

Jane was furious, but he hid it well. "Couldn't you maybe…have them fixed?"

"Not in the budget, I'm afraid. Besides, you have a nice, comfortable couch in the main office for those all-nighters you seem to have so frequently, if your upstairs bed was any indication."

Jane fumed in silence, pouring a cup of tea from the little pot the waitress set beside him. LaRoche was trying his best to get to him, to piss him off. He wasn't going to give the man the satisfaction. He looked up from his tea with a plastered on grin.

"Yes, I suppose that would be best. Nice of you to be so concerned with my safety and comfort," Jane said dryly.

"You're an important member of my team, Mr. Jane. It's my job to look out for you."

Jane made a noncommittal noise just as the waitress arrived. She refilled LaRoche's iced tea, then set down two identical sandwiches. Jane smiled when he realized they'd ordered the same thing. Jane flirted a little with the waitress, who blushed and simpered at the attention of such a handsome man. It was all designed to show LaRoche that his passive aggressive taunts were having no effect. Jane was about to take a bite of his sandwich when LaRoche reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a familiar slip of paper. Jane felt his face go white before he could kick in one of his biofeedback tricks.

"I almost forgot. I believe this belongs to you." He slid the paper across the table. To give himself more time, Jane took a bite, chewing slowly. It was LaRoche's suspect list for the Todd Johnson murder, the list Minnelli had procured for him. Jane swallowed and looked into the other man's eyes, which, if you looked closely, almost appeared…triumphant.

"What's this?" Jane asked, picking up the list. It was a copy of LaRoche's actual memo to Gale Betram. His mind whirled, trying to figure out how LaRoche had gotten his hands on it. Obviously, he'd found it in the attic.

"It was slipped under your makeshift mattress in your makeshift office. From the look on your face, you forgot you'd left it there."

_Shit. How could I have been so careless?_

"Me? How do you know someone didn't plant it there? Someone who wants to implicate me in some foul deed."

"Like who, Mr. Jane?"

"Hightower," Jane replied with the most likely suspect. "Maybe that's why she kidnapped me. I interrupted her trying to set me up."

LaRoche finished chewing his own bite of sandwich. "That makes a very convincing story. It would certainly explain things. Unfortunately, the notes at the bottom of the memo are in your handwriting. Where did you get this, Jane? Only Bertram and I were privy to this list. How did you come by it?"

"Look," Jane began, dropping all pretenses, now that he'd been clearly caught. "I admit I had the list. What difference does it make now? Your killer has gotten away."

"I could bring you up on charges of interfering with a criminal investigation."

"How did I interfere?" asked Jane. "Except to get in the way of Hightower's very lethal weapon?" He grinned ironically.

LaRoche changed tactics. "Who gave you the list, Jane? There might be a mole in the CBI, and it could very likely be you."

Jane chuckled. "Someone slipped that list under my apartment door, and I have no idea who. And yes, I kept it. Do you really blame me? You were investigating my friends and me. We had a right to know that we were suspects."

LaRoche's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You got an anonymous tip. Who would do that?"

Jane shrugged. "Don't ask me; you're the investigator." He took another bite of his sandwich, satisfied that his lies seemed nearly impossible to disprove. LaRoche had nothing but unsubstantiated suspicions now. The two men continued to eat in silence; they were at a grudging impasse. When Jane finished his last bite, he rose to his feet, reaching into his wallet to draw out a few bills. He tossed them on the table.

"Thanks for the enjoyable company," Jane said wryly. "We must do this again sometime."

LaRoche reached into the empty chair beside him, and picked up Jane's gun box. "I believe this belongs to you. Don't bring it back to the CBI unless you get it registered and put on file with the weapons clerk."

Jane took the box. "Of course. How silly of me." He gave another disarming grin, which also encompassed the waitress who had arrived with the check. "See you Monday, J.J."

"Yes you will…_Patrick_." And damned if the man actually smiled.

A/N: So, moving right along…yes, a lot happened in this chapter. To sum up: Jane still has to win Lisbon back, topple LaRoche, and reinstall Minnelli. Lisbon has her ultimatum ready. These problems and more will be addressed in future chapters. Thanks for hanging in there. Also, I used some poetic license by making up CBI gun rules and putting Bertam's office in the CBI Headquarters. I couldn't remember if it was there, or in some other building. Please correct me if I'm wrong about that, and I'll be happy to correct this chapter. I always try to be accurate. Okay, let those reviews fly…please?


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews! Now, by popular demand, Jane and Lisbon together again—at least for now. Hope you like this chapter. A little more angst, I'm afraid.

**Chapter 4**

She was waiting for him back in his apartment, and it tugged at his heart to know that she'd used the key he'd given her earlier in the week. He tried to ignore the brief flash of pain at the thought that someone was waiting for him at home again, and while it couldn't be his wife, he was still a little overwhelmed that it was Lisbon.

She sat on his couch in the living room, and he immediately assessed that she'd just been sitting there awhile, deep in thought. He avoided her eyes at first as he shut the door behind him and walked into the small kitchen, but he would have wagered she'd been crying a little. He was a coward not to look at her, so he covered it up by putting on the teakettle.

"Tea?" he asked. And for once, there wasn't the double entendre that always came with that question now.

"Please," she said, her voice slightly hoarse. She cleared her throat and resumed staring at the shaded window.

He went through the motions of getting out two cups, two saucers, two teabags, two spoons. The silence was deafening, fraught with tension, uncertainty, and fear. Before the water had even boiled, however, Lisbon spoke.

"Where have you been?" she asked. Her tone wasn't accusatory; she really wanted to know.

"I had lunch with LaRoche." He grinned with sudden, inappropriate humor. "That could be a cooking show: _Lunch with LaRoche."_

"What did he say?" She wasn't amused; definitely not a good sign.

He sighed and looked at the back of her dark head as she remained facing away from him. "He naturally asked about the gun. I told him where I'd gotten it. He gave it back to me and didn't seem too concerned about it. You must have smoothed the way for me."

"Good. I told him I'd already known about it. I—"  
>"You what?" Jane turned off the whistling teakettle and came out of the kitchen, furious for the second time that day.<p>

"I told him we'd talked about it when you'd first gotten it. He seemed to buy it, and it was a good way to cover your ass. But please, try to reign in your gratitude," she finished sarcastically.

"Dammit, Teresa, you shouldn't have lied for me. _Never_ lie for me. That's why I keep my questionable actions hidden from you—I don't want you in that position, risking your job for me. No wonder that bastard smiled at me. He caught us in a lie!"

"What?" she looked stricken, her face pale.

"I left your name out of it completely, even when he asked me directly if you knew. _Shit_. I can't believe I didn't catch what he was doing." He laughed humorlessly. "I told him the truth too…well, at least about the gun."

"It's not like I haven't lied for you before, you know, covered for you after one of your stupid schemes. I didn't see a reason to start now."

He ran both hands through his hair, closing his eyes as he sighed. "I've never asked you to lie for me."

She barked out a surprised laugh. "You want to rethink that statement?"

"Okay, I don't like it when you do, when it gets you in trouble or endangers your job. I always want to protect you from that."

Her expression suddenly softened and she rose, walking over to him in an almost sultry way, her eyes upon him. He couldn't prevent the jolt to his heart as she approached him, eyes all smoky and enthralling. She stopped a hair's breadth from him where he stood in the entryway.

"Stop protecting me," she said, her small hand reaching up to touch his slightly stubbled cheek. "Stop taking the weight of Red John upon your shoulders. You have an entire team of state agents specifically trained for maniacs like this. Maybe if you tell us all you know, we can help you. _I_ can help you."

His hand went up to press hers against his face, then to slide it over to his mouth so he could kiss her warm palm. "There's nothing to tell," he said.

"Bullshit," she said softly. "Tell me," she whispered against his lips, her hands holding his cheeks as she began a delicious assault on his mouth. Her tongue snaked inside and she felt his hands go to her waist, then lower, to push on her bottom. The kiss took a passionate turn as he took a more active role, grinding his pelvis into hers, a soft growl coming from deep in his throat. Lisbon chose that moment to wrench her mouth from his, kissing a sensual path to his ear.

"Tell me all your secrets, Patrick" she breathed, feeling him quiver a little at her hot breath. She nipped at his ear lobe. "If you want more of this, you have to give me a little encouragement." She ran her fingers through his hair, playing with his soft curls.

His hands came up, stilling hers at the wrists and setting her back a little so he could peer into her lovely green eyes. He was breathing heavily, but he knew sexual manipulation when he felt it.

"I've never known you to use sex as a weapon," he said, his own eyes slumberous and slightly dazed.

"Better than a Colt .45, isn't it?" she said, taking his mouth again and dragging him over to the couch. Jane knew that once she had him on his back he'd be a goner.

"No," he said, resolutely disentangling himself. "You can torture me all you want Agent Lisbon, but I'm not talking."

She evaluated what she'd managed to accomplish in about five minutes. His eyes were dilated, his chest moving in and out at swift pace, his hair disheveled from her busy hands. Just a few minutes more, and he'd be at her mercy. She advanced on him again, but he held up his hands defensively.

"Stop right there. I can't believe you're doing this. This is really beneath you, Teresa."

She smirked. "_You_ could be really beneath me."

His lips quirked in spite of himself. "I won't be manipulated this way."

She raised an eyebrow. "The way I see it, you're so used to being the manipulator that you've forgotten how it feels to be on the other end. Not too fun, is it?"

"No, but that doesn't change how wrong it is to bring this behavior into the bedroom. By either of us."

They were both suddenly very serious, and Lisbon looked at him sadly. "I came to a conclusion today. I can't be with you if you won't tell me what you've been keeping from me. All of it. Everything that you know in your heart I want—no, _deserve_-to know. So until that happens, there will be no more of this—any of this—between us. We'll go back to being all business, not even friends with benefits. Do you understand what I'm saying, Jane?"

"You're sexually blackmailing me," he said in disbelief. She almost took back her words at his hurt expression.

"Yes. Yes I am. I don't have anything else to bargain with here. If I fired you, you'd just leave and continue to keep your secrets. I saw what happened with Bosco when you were shut out of anything Red John related, so that would be a pointless endeavor. You'd just go rogue and do whatever the hell you wanted without me standing beside you to give you some semblance of restraint. You're leaving me no choice."

"And what do you suppose I'll do if you stop having sex with me? Come running back to you like some horny teenager, begging for a quick feel in the backseat? I remained celibate for seven years, Lisbon. I could go seven more if I have to. But here's another choice—how about just trusting that I know what's best for us? That I'm trying to pro-"

"Stop beating that dead horse," interrupted Lisbon angrily. "How about _you_ trusting _me_? You think I can't handle hearing the truth? I don't think that's it at all. At the risk of beating another dead horse, I won't mention again how you're afraid I'll prevent you from going after Red John on your own. So it comes down to this. Either you want _me_, or your secrets. You can't have both." She felt her heart pounding within her breast, her hands perspiring. She couldn't believe she'd given him this ultimatum, and now she was scared to death he wouldn't pick her, that his obsession with Red John would be what killed their relationship, as surely as it had killed his wife and child.

"Why are you doing this to us?" he asked, heartsick. He thought of the past seven years when he'd been alone except for his friends in the CBI. He remembered his daily dread about going home to an empty apartment, a cold place where he rarely got any sleep. These days, he rarely slept all night at the office anymore. Most of his nights were spent cuddling with Lisbon. Now she was going to take away the one thing in his life that gave him peace.

Her eyes softened, and she touched a tentative hand to his vest-covered chest. "Because we can't go on this way. We've been living in a fantasy land, avoiding reality. No Red John case in months has allowed us to be—"she caught a sudden flicker in his eyes, and her own eyes widened in horrified realization. "Jane? Something _has _happened with Red John, hasn't it?"

He closed his eyes against her probing gaze, and she dropped her hand with a sob. "Oh, my God! This is worse than I thought. I assumed you'd just been keeping clues from me. But it's more than that, isn't it?"

"Lisbon—"

"Has he killed someone else I don't know about?"

Jane remained stoically silent, and he wouldn't meet her eyes. He went back into the kitchen to see if he could salvage the tea. Lisbon stood where he'd left her by the door, her entire body shaking now, tears and the little mascara she wore sliding down her cheeks.

"Who, Jane?" she asked desperately. "You'd better tell me now or I'm walking out this door, you hear me?"

"I hear you," he whispered, but his voice seemed to echo in the small kitchen. He opened the refrigerator for the milk. If she'd been able to see his hands, she'd see the slight tremor as he poured some into his tea cup. He reached for the kettle and filled the cup with the hot water, then dropped his Earl Grey tea bag into the mixture, dunking it absently.

The slamming door made him jump, and a little hot water spilled over on his hands. He dropped the cup, watching dispassionately as it shattered into the sink.

_She's finally done it,_ he thought numbly. _Gotten mad enough to slam a door._

He reached for the remaining cup, and started the process all over again. He willed his mind to go blank as a buffer against the anguish that lurked just beneath a thin wall of control. When he at last brought the cup to his lips, he didn't even care that the tea was too cold for his usual taste. He swallowed it down anyway.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thirty minutes later, and Jane was sitting at his small kitchen table, J.J. LaRoche's file open before him. If Red John were to blame for his family's death, Jane thought, LaRoche was to blame for the death of his relationship with Lisbon. The bastard would pay, as surely as would Red John when Jane finally caught him. And while LaRoche's crimes weren't deserving of a death sentence, the least Jane could do was kill the man's career. That would be a suitable punishment for meddling in Jane's affairs.

On the inside of the folder was stapled a picture of LaRoche, more than likely the official photo on his CBI ID card. His face was solemn and blank, his eyes void of emotion, rather like a shark's, in Jane's opinion. On the page of personal information, Jane was momentarily nonplussed to see what _J.J. _stood for: John Jacob. _John_. An ironic coincidence, of course. John was one of the most common names on the planet, after all. He wondered why the man didn't just go by _John. _Skimming through his family tree, he figured out why. His father had also been John Jacob LaRoche, so his family had done what many did with a junior name—given him a nickname; in this case, his first two initials, rather than the more diminutive _Junior. _

He saw that LaRoche was ten years older than Jane, which took him a little by surprise; he'd assumed they were about the same age. His vital statistics were off by about twenty pounds, indicating that the file hadn't been updated in awhile. His father had died twenty years ago, a retired rice farmer from Louisiana. He had no siblings, and he had moved his mother to California to be with him, likely so he could take care of her and still be close to his work. She'd lived with him in Sacramento up until her death about five years before.

He sifted through the rest of LaRoche's file, past various commendations for solving difficult cases, tracing his rise to Senior Agent from Tulane law school graduate, to his post-university move to California and his recruitment by the CBI. He couldn't find in the records the reason behind LaRoche's desire to move from Louisiana, but he'd made quite a name for himself in Northern California criminal investigations, working in the San Francisco DA's office as a young attorney. All in all, there wasn't much of interest to Jane, not even a hint of impropriety or any investigations by internal affairs. The man was just as boring on paper as he was in real life.

He'd never even been married, but there was an information sheet on a red-haired woman who had obviously been important to him; the CBI did background checks on the significant others of their top agents. The date stamp on the background check was from six years ago.

Jane studied the woman's picture, noting her name and last known place of business. Jessie Lynch was full-bodied and rather pretty, with sparkling blue eyes and mischief in her smile. She and Jane were the same age. He wondered what had happened between them, and instantly Jane realized that he'd likely stumbled onto his enemy's Achilles heel. Maybe the best approach was not through some career ending set up—although Jane still hadn't ruled the idea out completely. No, maybe the way to ruining LaRoche was through his heart, if one in fact beat inside the cold man's chest. Jane grinned to himself as a plan began to take shape. Not even the great investigator, John Jacob LaRoche, Junior would know what hit him…until it was much too late.

A/N: I hope I successfully tapped into that scary, obsessive side we only see when Jane is confronted with a Red John case. LaRoche has messed with Jane's life, broken up his relationship with Lisbon, albeit inadvertently, not to mention still delving into Jane's personal Red John investigation. I don't see Jane sitting still for that, do you? Any thoughts out there?


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks to all who keep on reading, and keep on reviewing. I wish I could respond to everyone, but I can't if you aren't logged in or you don't receive personal messages. So if you haven't heard back from me, it could only be due to one of those reasons. Please check your settings! This chapter is a little lighter on the surface, but there are still some dark undertones. I appreciate those who keep hanging in here…

**Chapter 5**

_The following day…_

_Miss Jessie's_ restaurant was packed—_a good sign_, thought Jane as he waited for the hostess to seat him. He'd made reservations and invited Cho to join him for lunch. His colleague hadn't arrived yet, which was just as well; Jane needed to check things out a little without the very observant agent noticing what he was doing. As requested, he was seated at a table for two overlooking a lush courtyard, and the French-style décor gave the eatery an aristocratic air, yet there was also the welcoming feeling of a New Orleans café. When Jane had learned that LaRoche's old flame owned a restaurant serving Creole cuisine, he immediately understood the attraction: Jessie Lynch's establishment reminded LaRoche of home.

Jessie was obviously managing the place very well, given the lunch crowd. He was glad he'd taken the advice of the woman he'd spoken to over the phone who'd suggested the reservation. The diners seemed to be mainly businesspeople, but here and there were shopping ladies who lunched, a couple meeting for an afternoon tryst, and an obvious regular who preferred to eat alone. Jane couldn't wait to try the food.

The waitress came just as Cho was escorted to the table, and he sat across from Jane, curiosity animating his dark eyes—the only sign of emotion on the younger man's face. After the waitress left them menus and took their drink orders, Cho became all business.

"So, what's this all about?"

Jane grinned. "I've missed you, Kimball," he said in amusement. "Does it have to be more than that?"

Cho's only reply was a blank stare.

Jane chuckled. "Okay, you caught me. I'm doing a little personal investigation here. Thought you might want to be in on it."

"What about Lisbon?" Cho asked, and there was a world of meaning behind those three words. Cho knew of Jane's intimate relationship with their boss, but, characteristically, Cho wasn't talking, and wouldn't; their secret was safe with him. A shadow suddenly passed over Jane's face, and Cho's eyes narrowed.

"Trouble in paradise?" he inquired.

"A rough patch," Jane replied, brushing it off. He didn't have time to think about Lisbon right now. It was too painful, and he didn't want the fact that she hadn't called him since she stormed out of his apartment the day before to interfere with his mission today. "But that's not why we're here. We're here to begin the delicate removal of the thorn in our sides."

"And we can do this by eating red beans and rice?"asked Cho dryly, his eyes on the menu.

"In a manner of speaking. This, my friend, is about getting rid of J.J. LaRoche."

Cho lowered the menu, quickly sizing up Jane's degree of seriousness. Cho remembered the grilling he'd received at the hands of their new director, the mess he'd gotten Rigsby out of by lying for him, as well as the recent—though short-lived—ouster of Lisbon in favor of Cho. He didn't like the man's management style, to put it mildly. So if Jane had conceived of a way to make things difficult for LaRoche, Cho just needed to know how and when.

"I'm in," he told Jane.

"Great. I had a feeling you would be. So tell me, has any of _your_ stuff been rifled through during our fearless leader's recent spring cleaning…?"

While they were waiting for their orders, Jane filled Cho in on how he and his stuff had been kicked out of the attic, leading to a major disagreement between him and Lisbon. Jane glossed over the details, but Cho got the sense that the consultant was majorly pissed off, and taking things very personally—feelings easy to come by when LaRoche was involved.

"I got a look at LaRoche's personnel file. It seems he was involved with the proprietor of this restaurant several years ago. Since there was nothing remotely damning in his work life, I thought we could meet the woman and find out what we can about his personal life."

Cho didn't even question how Jane had gotten hold of LaRoche's file. That's what Jane liked most about Cho—he wasn't bogged down by the unimportant details. A flash of red caught Jane's eye, and he turned to see the object of this mission coming out of the kitchen. Jessie Lynch was wearing the formal white of a chef, her vivid red hair pulled up in a messy bun as she spoke with a member of her wait staff. Even beneath the shapeless fit of her uniform, Jane could see her luscious, hourglass figure. Her slightly rounded cheeks were flushed from the heat of the kitchen, but her blue eyes sparkled animatedly during her conversation, which ended with the woman's musical laughter.

"That's her," Jane nodded toward her. "The red-head."

Cho's eyes widened slightly in appreciation of the vivacious woman who could have sprung from a painting by Rubens. Both men were struck with the idea that such a warm, sensual woman could have been attracted to a cold fish like LaRoche.

Their lunches arrived, and it smelled divine. Jane had ordered Trout Meuriere Amandine, and, as he'd suggested, Cho had the simplest of Creole faire—red beans and rice. Jane, an obvious foodie, took his time, enjoying the brown butter sauce and the crunchy almonds that complemented the lightly fried fish. Cho just dug in with a soft grunt of appreciation. When the waitress returned to check on them, Jane made his move.

"This is absolutely spectacular!" he exclaimed. "It's like I can taste the French Quarter in every bite. You must send our compliments to the chef. No—on second thought—please, send her out here so I can thank her in person!" It was very hard to resist Patrick Jane when he turned on the charm. The young woman smiled and promised she would pass on his request.

Cho just shook his head indulgently. When it came to Jane's Prince Charming act, he was one of the few people who was completely and utterly immune. Then, like Jane had waved his magic wand, Miss Jessie herself came through the swinging kitchen doors and made her way to their table. Jane and Cho rose politely.

"Awww…the chef honors us with her presence," exclaimed Jane, pouring it on thickly, putting his palms together and bowing slightly before her awesomeness. Patrons at neighboring tables smiled and clapped at Jane's antics and in agreement with his praise of Jessie's cooking.

Jessie laughed. "Oh stop! Sit down, please!" She motioned with her hands.

"We will if you'll join us," said Jane, indicating the chair beside him. She flushed prettily, looked around self-consciously, and took the seat that Jane gallantly pulled out for her.

"Now this is the biggest ego boost I've had in weeks," said Jessie. "Two handsome gentlemen inviting me to their table. You flatter me, truly."

"You're the famous Miss Jessie, aren't you?" Jane asked. "_You_ flatter us."

"The restaurant is actually named for _my_ namesake, my Grand-mere Jessie from New Orleans, whose recipes inspired my own."

"Isn't that lovely. My colleague and I couldn't leave without letting you know how impressed we are. Everything is absolutely wonderful, right Cho?"

"Yes, very good," responded the agent automatically. Truth be told, he'd rather be eating pizza.

"So, are you two new in town?"

"No, no. We've lived here for ages. We just were in the mood for some authentic Creole food, and this place came highly recommended by a friend of ours. I think you might know him. J.J. LaRoche?" Jane's face remained pleasantly neutral, and the sudden tightening of her smile spoke volumes.

"You know John.?" she asked, looking a little pale now. Jane was startled at her use of his first name rather than initials, but he hid it well with a smile.

"Why, yes. We work with him."

"You must be with the CBI then," she stated.

"Yes. This is Agent Cho, and I'm a consultant for the Bureau—Patrick Jane. J.J. certainly had nice things to say about you."

She nodded at the introductions. "Well, I haven't spoken to J.J. in years…how…how is he?"

Jane saw a flash of pain in her blue eyes, and he pushed away the guilt as he manipulated her for his own ends. _This is all for the greater good, _he told himself.

"He recently got a big promotion. He's actually our boss, now," Jane informed her. "Someone upstairs has really taken a shine to him. He's like the CBI's new golden boy. He can do no wrong."

"I'm uh, very happy for him." At her watery eyes, Cho shot Jane a meaningful look. He didn't care much for unnecessarily upsetting innocent bystanders. Jane ignored both Cho and his conscience, and moved in for the kill.

"Actually, Jessie," Jane said, leaning in closer and dropping his voice to a conspiratorial level. "We have an ulterior motive here. You see, J.J. is about to celebrate his fiftieth birthday, and we need a caterer for the surprise birthday bash we're planning. Since he's originally from Louisiana, we thought we'd try to find a restaurant who served authentic Creole cuisine. The fact that J.J. himself suggested your place made it all the more fitting, don't you think?"

She swallowed hard and blinked several times in a row, obviously trying to avoid the embarrassment of tears. _Wow, LaRoche really did a number on her, _thought Jane dispassionately. When she didn't immediately reply, Jane contorted his face into a mask of concern.

"I'm sorry, did I say something to upset you? Jessie?"

"Oh, no. Not at all," she answered, pulling herself together. "I'm just surprised, that's all. I mean, it's been years, and now suddenly…this." She gestured to the two men helplessly.

"Well, obviously something very unpleasant happened between you two. I certainly don't want to dredge up any unhappy memories for you."

She hesitated a moment, and Jane knew she was contemplating whether or not she could share her old grief where LaRoche was concerned.

"It's really sort of a long story, but I'll just say that John and I were involved. Engaged, actually. It didn't work out. I haven't seen him in about six years now."

Jane reached over to put his hand atop hers where it rested on the table. He looked deeply into her pain-filled eyes, this time with genuine compassion. He knew what it was like to mourn for someone that long. "It was because of his mother, wasn't it?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. "How did you know that?"

Jane shrugged. "Just a guess. I didn't know the woman, but I'm guessing she didn't approve of you, probably because you would be taking away her baby boy. Is that about right?"

"Yes," she said in the whisper. Cho handed her the extra cloth napkin from the unused place setting beside him. She took it gratefully, wiping at her eyes.

"Did you know that Mrs. LaRoche passed away five years ago?"

"No." She dabbed at new tears. "Poor John. I wonder why he never called me."

"Pride, I imagine. Or maybe fear that you wouldn't forgive him for choosing his mother over you."

"But I understood," she said passionately. "My own parents passed away; I know how terrible that can feel. I have so much guilt myself because I wasn't there with them, at the end."

"There, there, Jessie. You must stop blaming yourself." He gently patted her hand. "You know, maybe suggesting we come here was J.J.'s awkward way of letting you know he's still interested, but afraid to reach out on his own."

Amidst the sadness, her eyes took on a gleam of hope. "You think so? I mean, he couldn't possibly still be single, a good man like him."

"Oh, he's single all right," Jane responded, trying not to laugh at her loving characterization of the man he always thought of in comparison to various unsavory animals. "But I can't believe _you_ are free, Jessie," he commented truthfully. "A lovely woman like you must have dozens of beaus."

She blushed. "Well, there _have_ been a few. But they all meant nothing. None of them could ever measure up to John in my eyes."

Jane glanced at Cho, who was looking upon the spectacle in disapproval; although someone who didn't know him would only see a mask of serenity. Jane raised an amused eyebrow, then refocused on Jessie.

"I have an idea. Why don't you come to CBI Headquarters on Monday, and pretend to just be there to see me. The restaurant isn't open on Mondays, right? J.J. will be there and you could see for yourself if the spark is still there. And a little jealousy that you are there to see another man couldn't hurt."

"I don't know…I never was much for playing games like that."

Jane grinned. "Now, Jessie, all is fair in love and war, remember?"

She sniffled a little and smiled through her tears. "Maybe. But I have to admit, Mr. Jane, I'm a little scared. I don't want to get my heart broken again."

"It's Patrick, please, and anyone worth fighting for is worth taking a risk for. A leap of faith, if you will. Don't let fear keep you from this second chance to be with your true love."

She was quiet a moment, then her eye was caught by another chef gesturing wildly at her from the kitchen door. "Oh, I'm sorry. Looks like I'm needed in the kitchen."

She rose, and the two men rose with her. "Will you at least think about it?" Jane asked kindly. "I have to admit I'm somewhat of a romantic, and this story of yours and J.J.'s is irresistible. Here's my card. Call me if you need to talk." He had taken out his wallet and pulled out one of his CBI consultant cards. She took it, then impulsively gave Jane a grateful hug.

"Thank you, Patrick. Maybe I _will_ see you Monday. I'll think about it. Nice meeting you both. I gotta run. Good-bye."

"Bye now,"called Jane as she headed back toward the kitchen.

"Bye," said Cho. When they were alone, Cho folded his napkin and pushed his plate away. "I've lost my appetite," he said tightly.

"No banana pudding?" Jane said, signaling for the waitress. Cho listened to Jane exclaim over the rest of the meal in silence. He kept waiting for Jane to tell him his plan, to explain why the hell Cho had needed to be there at all. But nothing more was forthcoming, and Jane chattered inanely about the food and the ambience before gladly paying the bill. Cho didn't even offer to pay his part.

Outside the restaurant, Cho could hold his peace no longer. "That really sucked, Jane," he said. Jane eyed the agent in the afternoon sunlight.

"It's for the greater good," Jane countered benignly. He'd found a new mantra, words he could repeat to himself when his plans began to become too morally questionable to deal with.

Jane was parked in the lot next to the restaurant and Cho's car was on the street. The two men parted ways and Jane got into his blue Citroen, started the engine, and drove away.

Cho stood by his own vehicle, waiting for Jane to drive out of sight. He hadn't liked the way Jane had handled Jessie Lynch at all. It was one thing for Jane to try to entrap a suspect; quite another in Cho's mind to mess with a heartbroken innocent who had nothing whatever to do with Jane's perceived injuries at the hands of J.J. LaRoche. Despite this, Cho wasn't about to call Mommy Lisbon, and definitely not Daddy LaRoche. He was no rat, after all, and he usually looked the other way—sometimes even helped—with Jane's schemes. But this just didn't sit well with Cho's naturally chivalrous sensitivities. Cho decided at that moment exactly what he must do.

"The greater good, my ass," he mumbled to himself. He pocketed his car keys and walked back into the restaurant, embarking on a quest to save a red-headed damsel from even more distress.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane finished his circuit around the block, slowing down as he came back to _Miss Jessie's_. When he saw that Cho's car was still parked in the same place, Jane grinned in satisfaction. _People were just so predictable sometimes_, he thought. He turned up his radio and whistled along with the smooth jazz, directing his trusty Citroen toward the freeway's mid-afternoon traffic.

A/N: I'm sure many of you are disliking Jane right now—and that's okay. He is deep in obsession mode, ignoring the needs and wants of others in order to get what he wants. I promise it will all pay off in the end. In the meantime, I'd love to know your thoughts. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This chapter verges on "M", so please be advised. Enjoy!

**Chapter 6**

Late Saturday night, Lisbon stood in the Special Crimes Unit bullpen, staring at the neatly folded pile of bedding and pillows stacked upon Jane's desk. The thin piece of foam he'd used for a bed was propped against a nearby wall. She also noted the familiar remote controlled toy helicopter, a deck of cards, two dress shirts, and a used cup and saucer that took up the rest of the space atop the rarely used desk, along with various office supplies he'd brought up to the attic for his personal use. LaRoche had apparently kicked him out of the attic for good.

An hour before, she'd given up trying to sleep, hating the uselessness of tossing and turning. She'd lain there for hours, alternating between reliving their confrontation of two days before, and imagining him knocking on her door, begging for forgiveness and confessing all of his secrets. Both were fruitless lines of thinking. With a sudden insight into what Jane must go through during his many sleepless nights, she's gotten out of bed, thrown on jeans, t-shirt and a hooded sweatshirt, and driven to the CBI. She had to get out, and, work furlough or no, CBI HQ was the only place she really felt at home.

The lone night watchman waved her past, and she entered the building, heading first to Jane's attic hideaway to check out the damage LaRoche's so-called "spring cleaning" had wrought. She'd found, much to her surprise, that the sliding door was locked now with a shiny, new, military grade padlock. The sight made her eyes water. So much had been taken from Jane that this seemed minor by comparison, but nonetheless it made her suddenly angry at LaRoche that he could be so spiteful and petty as to take away one of the few indulgences Jane allowed himself in life. In an uncharacteristic burst of temper, she pounded the door as hard as she could in frustration. She went back downstairs, hand throbbing, but feeling a little better for having done something. That is, until she'd seen Jane's desk.

She wiped at her eyes and picked up a pillow, bringing it up to her face in the glow of his desk lamp. It still smelled faintly of his shampoo and cologne. _Am I making a mistake, making him choose between me and Red John? Can I live with whatever choice he makes?_

"Hey," said Jane from the doorway. She was startled, but not really surprised to find him there. She dropped the pillow and turned to him. He looked as haggard as she felt, and she realized it had been months since she'd seen him like this: unshaven, unpressed, generally unkempt. A pang of guilt swept through her.

"Hey," she replied. "You stalking me?" she asked, unable to resist falling into their usual banter. Old habits…

He grinned slightly. "Actually, this is just an incredible coincidence. I couldn't sleep, and The Couch has magical properties. It…_called_ to me." He looked with exaggerated longing at the brown leather couch near his desk, upon which he'd spent many a lazy afternoon.

"Awww…that explains it. Well, I'll just leave the two of you alone—"

She moved toward the door, but he stood where he was, blocking her way. "Teresa. Can we talk, please?"

She sighed. "Are you ready to tell me everything?"

"No," he said simply. "But I miss you. When you weren't at your apartment, I got worried. I figured you'd come here. I just needed to see your face, to know you're okay."

"Well, you've seen it; now let me go."

He didn't move. "Wait." He reached for her hands, but she twisted them out of his grasp. She could lay him flat if she wanted to, and they both knew it. He dropped his hands with a frustrated sigh.

"Don't do this, Jane. I told you what I want, and I meant it. Let me go," she repeated.

"No. I can't."

"You're going to have to." She was pleased that her voice sounded so firm, given the way her pulse was pounding in her head. She turned and walked away from him, determined to use a different exit since he was childishly blocking this one. He caught up with her, grabbing her arm and turning her to face him. Before she could protest, he drew her close, holding her by her upper arms, capturing her mouth in a determined kiss.

At first she resisted, struggling against him. She could easily have kneed him in the groin, but something held her back. Love, she supposed vaguely, as well as the instant lust that flared between them whenever his lips met hers. He held her head still, his hands moving to her hair so he could continue his sensual assault, and she abruptly quit fighting, her mouth stubbornly closed against his advancing tongue. Then, abruptly, he changed tactics, gentling his hold on her, nibbling at her bottom lip, slowing his entreating tongue to a lazy flick at the seam of her mouth.

She shivered, moaned, and opened her mouth. Her acquiescence brought about an instant renewal of his passion, and before either of them knew it, their hands began working in tandem, feeling hot skin beneath shirts, unbuttoning, unzipping, while their mouths remained fused and insistent. Neither of them could remember later just how they'd managed to land on the couch, but one thing had led quickly to another, and suddenly Lisbon was on her back, Jane inside of her, holding her wrists above her head as her hips rose to meet him, stroke for delicious stroke. Their harsh breaths and passionate groans filled the empty office, each of them in a frantic hurry to win this sensual race. His lips slid down her throat, nuzzling up her t-shirt to take one pert nipple between his teeth. She bucked against him, bringing them both to the brink of insanity. He repeated the process on her other breast, and with a long wail, she was done for, and he came quickly after.

They panted in aftershock, Jane's soft curls against her bare neck as he breathed harshly into her ear. A thin layer of perspiration covered their fevered skin. Neither of them could ever remember such an intense and swift release.

After a few minutes had ticked by, Jane released her hands, lifting himself up a little to relieve some of his weight upon her and to look into her flushed face and bright eyes.

"I can't lose this," he whispered desperately, lightly tracing her cheeks with trembling fingers. "Please don't leave me, Teresa."

She closed her eyes against the intensity of his, at the guilt his pleading eyes aroused in her. At that moment, she both hated and loved him in equal measures. She'd sworn to herself _and_ to him that this wouldn't happen again, and with one kiss, she was putty in his hands.

"Get up, Jane," she said shakily.

"What?"

She opened her eyes, bravely meeting his. "I can't believe this happened. Talk about _me_ using sex as a weapon. Did you think I'd just take this lying down—?"

He grinned wickedly. "I think you just did."

This time, she didn't ask; she pushed him off of her, and he landed in a surprised heap on the floor.

"Hey!"

Lisbon got awkwardly off the couch, realized her panties were around her ankles and pulled them up before she tripped. She reached for her discarded jeans and shoes, while he sat up on the floor against the couch, half-naked, shirt unbuttoned, a lazy grin on his face as he watched her fumble for her clothes and her dignity. In Jane's mind, he'd clearly won this battle.

"I'm so damn pathetic," she was mumbling to herself. Fully clothed again, she looked down at him. "I've allowed you to have too much power over me. Well, no more. That was our last hurrah. Unless we're on a case, you stay away from me or else—"

"You're giving me an ultimatum to your original ultimatum?" he interrupted, looking up at her in amusement. "Oh please. That ship has already sailed, don't you think? Just give up and we can go back to the way things were. You know I never tell you the whole truth about work stuff. I thought you'd accepted that about me when you told me you love me. We were perfectly happy before that bastard LaRoche stuck his nose into my business."

She stood dumbstruck a moment, trying to decide which outrageous contention to address first. Before she could formulate her rebuttal, however, he reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers.

"You love me," he said softly. "No ultimatums are going to change that. So it seems to me we need to agree to disagree and get on with the life we had together before we were so rudely interrupted."

She tried to ignore the tingles that shot up her arm from where their hands were joined, tried to ignore how amazingly sexy he looked, lounging so casually in his nudity, his hair tousled, his eyes slumberous from their recent passion. He was right; her ultimatum _was_ pointless, but he was wrong to think that she could forget his lies of omission.

She squeezed his hand. "Yes, I love you. And if _you_ loved me, you would trust me, it's as simple as that."

"Teresa—" he began, hating the sorrow in her eyes, knowing that he'd put it there but feeling too entrenched in his principles to do anything about it.

She gently released his hand, and he let his own fall away. He would let her go, for now. She no doubt needed to go off and lick her wounds, to re-evaluate how she was going to deal with the fact that she couldn't live without him.

"I'll see you Monday, Jane."

"Yes you will, Lisbon," he told her matter-of-factly.

He stayed where he was on the floor, watching her through the glass walls as she made her way down the hall toward the elevator. He heard the faint _ding _as it arrived and took her back down to the lobby. Jane stood up slowly, suddenly feeling his age. He wasn't a young man anymore, and the cold floor had made his legs a little stiff. He laughed when his back protested his bending over and picking up his underwear. A wave of tiredness overcame him, both from his exertions with Lisbon and from the last few sleepless nights he'd spent without her. He grabbed a pillow and blanket from his desk, switched off the single light Lisbon had turned on, and lay back down on the couch. He looked up toward the darkened ceiling, physically and emotionally spent, but in a good way.

Monday would be a game changer, of this he was certain. His plans for Jessie Lynch and J.J. LaRoche would come to a head, and Lisbon would be resigned to the fact that no matter their problems, being together was infinitely better than the alternative. As his eyes began to flutter close, he imagined he could still feel her warmth beneath him, still smell her sweet scent, still hear her soft pants as he moved within her. For the first time in days, Jane felt the comfort that only comes with complete contentment, and the feeling followed him into his dreams.

_**Monday morning…**_

If the jovial laughter was any indication, the team was happy to be back at work. The time off had been good for all of them, Jane thought as he greeted his coworkers in the bullpen. Rigsby and Van Pelt answered his teasing comments with gentle ribbings of their own. Cho, however, pointedly went back to catching up on his e-mail.

_That's fine,_ thought Jane. _He'll be thanking me when LaRoche is gone and Minelli is back in command where he belongs_.

Jane went into the break room to make himself some tea, grabbing a raspberry filled donut while he waited for the water to boil in the electric teakettle. There was no sign of Lisbon, but her car was in the lot, so he imagined she was just avoiding him. He'd noticed the blinds on her windows were purposefully closed in a vain attempt to hide from the world. But that was alright with Jane; he had other things to focus on this morning.

The attack came from nowhere, just as Jane was reaching for the teakettle. It felt like he'd been hit by a Mack truck, his eye socket exploding in pain as the punch slammed into his face. He reached out blindly for the counter for support, but missed, bringing his empty cup and saucer crashing to the hardwood floor alongside him.

Jane looked up to see a suit-clad blob before him—it was LaRoche, looming above him, shaking in abject rage.

"Stay out of my personal life, you miserable son-of-a-bitch, or next time I'll take your fuckin' head off." His voice was low and clipped, but deadly serious. Jane's hand went instinctively to his eye as he looked past the madman to the redhead in the breakroom doorway. She was sobbing, her hands over her mouth in shock.

"Oh, hi Jessie," Jane said with a grin, which he quickly rethought as the nerve endings on the left side of his face reacted in protest. The sound of breaking pottery had brought Rigsby, Van Pelt and Cho to the room, just as LaRoche stalked purposefully away.

"John!" Jessie called after him. She turned back to Jane. "I'm so sorry!" And then she followed her ex-fiancé down the hall.

"What the hell happened?" asked Rigsby, helping Jane to his feet.

"I uh, slipped," he said unsteadily. Rigsby helped him to the chair at the small dining table, while Cho bent down to pick up the pieces of the broken cup and saucer. Van Pelt rushed to the freezer for an ice pack, holding it gingerly to Jane's eye and cheek.

"Was that LaRoche?" she asked, her face grim.

Jane shrugged.

Cho dropped the broken shards into the nearby trashcan, brushing his hands together in finality.

"Karma's a bitch, isn't it?" Cho said, then left the breakroom without a backward glance.

A/N: Boy, that preview for the upcoming new episode looks amazing! Check it out on if you haven't seen it! In light of what we see in that, I can totally imagine LaRoche reacting to Jane in the way I showed in my story; watch the promo and you'll see what I mean. My next chapter will have much more fallout from Jane's actions concerning Jessie and LaRoche. Please review and let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: This chapter is a little dialogue heavy; hope you don't mind. Thanks for those who continue to follow this story. I know it's not my usual fluff, and it's wearing me out because of it, lol. If I write another multi-chapter story, it will definitely be more lighthearted. At any rate, I hope you like this chapter enough to review. And now…

**Chapter 7**

Lisbon, having been in meetings with Bertram and fellow special agents, had been gone all morning, so it wasn't until noon that she heard in passing the rumor of LaRoche's alleged assault on Jane. She didn't believe it until she saw him laying on his couch in the bullpen, one eye closed, the other covered with an ice pack. She stared down at his sleeping form. Funny, she thought, how he looked so innocent in sleep—almost angelic, with those soft, blonde curls. Another one of those cruel tricks of nature. She was still pissed off with him, still having trouble accepting that he was choosing the security of his lies over her. But after Saturday night's intimacies with him on this very couch, she knew she had to find a way to reach him, to get past his walls. Cutting him off completely from her life and her bed would bring nothing more to either of them but frustration and pain.

"Jane," she said, jostling the couch with her foot.

"Huh?" One eye opened. "Oh, hello, Lisbon." He yawned, flinched at the soreness, then sat up and removed the half-melted ice pack. Lisbon gasped at the inflamed cheek and his swollen eye, already showing signs of the nasty bruise he would have, despite the ice pack.

"You mind telling me why LaRoche cleaned your clock this morning? Aside from the usual reasons you might get hit, I mean." Lord knows he'd driven her to it herself.

"It was a sucker punch," Jane began. "Came out of nowhere. I didn't even have time to defend myself."

She snorted. "And what could you have done? He's twice your size."

Jane attempted his sunniest smile, which lacked a little of its usual effect, given the swelling on one side of his face. "I might have had time to duck, at least."

The rest of the team had gone to lunch, so Lisbon sat on the couch beside him with a tired sigh. "You're avoiding my original question, Jane. Why did he attack you in the first place—and don't tell me you have no idea."

"You have any aspirin?" Jane hedged, massaging his temples.

"After you explain yourself."

He saw she was serious, and since his head hurt like hell, he said, "I got his old girlfriend mad at me. He was defending her honor."

"You did what?" she said, incredulous.

"Cho and I went to lunch at her restaurant last week. We met her, asked her to cater a party for LaRoche. It was all very civil, I assure you. I swear, Lisbon, I was on my best behavior. I have no idea what I said to offend her."  
>"What party?"<p>

"LaRoche's fiftieth birthday party, next week. I was going to invite you…"

"You're full of crap, Jane. Why the hell would you throw LaRoche a party? You hate the guy. Here's what I think happened: you're messing with him through his girlfriend, and LaRoche caught on. You're lucky he didn't shoot you."

"LaRoche and I got off on the wrong foot. Things have been better between us since the Hightower incident. I thought a goodwill gesture might pave the way for me. Maybe he'd be more willing to share any new Red John developments."

She looked at him, considering. "You're lying. Tell me the truth. What's this really all about?"

Jane's entire demeanor suddenly changed, and he gave up fighting her, for once. It must have been the headache. "I want him out, Lisbon. The man's a menace." He tossed the ice pack into a nearby wastebasket.

"LaRoche is a good agent," she said, once the shock of his confession had worn off. "I may not care for his methods, but he's beyond reproach."

"I know," he said, with obvious disappointment. "I read his file. Don't worry, I put it back."

"Dammit, Jane, I don't even want to know."

He eyed her triumphantly. "That, my dear, is why I don't tell you things. You _don't _really want to know, because then you can avoid deciding the morality of my actions, especially when you secretly agree with what I do. You're also afraid that deep down, you are also an _ends justifies the means_ kind of person, just like me, and the very idea of that scares the hell out of you. It goes against all the training you've received with the CBI, all the pretty little lies you've told me and yourself throughout your career."

He could tell he'd hurt her, but he wasn't taking it back, because they both knew he spoke the truth. He did feel immediately contrite for the harsh way he'd said it, however. He reached for her hand, his voice softening. "Look, you want me to trust you with my secrets? Give me time a chance to see if I can. Let my plan for LaRoche work without interfering or running to Betram."

"_You're_ testing _me_ now? That's rich."

He turned toward her, looking deeply into her eyes. "You've trusted me before with my crazy schemes. This doesn't have to be any different."

"In the past, we were working together to get the bad guys, not one of our own."

He shrugged. "Sounds like it will require quite a leap of faith on both our parts. You want the truth, but can you really handle it?"

At Lisbon's sudden silence, Jane played his trump card. "I could have lied to you, gone on with my plan without you knowing I was up to something."

"You could have thrown out whatever you're planning completely," she countered. "You could choose to live within the rules for once and actually try to work with LaRoche, instead of messing with a man's career and personal life for some petty slight he's given you."

Jane gritted his teeth against the acid words that came to his lips. "He's going to ruin the next Red John case, and you know it."

"I don't know that, and neither do you. We haven't had the chance to see what he might do in such a case, since thankfully Red John has been dormant the last few months."

Jane didn't comment, confirming for Lisbon her earlier surmising that Red John had struck again, unbeknownst to anyone else on the team.

"Aside from the gun and kicking you out of the attic, what has LaRoche done to earn your wrath?"

"Isn't that enough?" he said rhetorically.

"No," she answered anyway, "I'm pretty sure there's more that you've been holding out on me. Look, I'll trust that you are doing the right thing, give you free reign, but you're going to have to give me something in return. Tell me a secret you've been keeping from me. I swear to you, I'll guard it with my life." She took his other hand, heedless now that someone might come into the bullpen and see how intimate they appeared. "Do this, Patrick, for _us_, because… you love me." And that was the card Lisbon played against his.

Jane couldn't help but grin at her cleverness. "You missed your calling, Lisbon. You should put in for hostage negotiator."

Lisbon allowed herself a small smile. "I couldn't handle the stress," she said. But they both knew she thrived on it in her current position.

"Let me get this straight," he continued, "you'll give me free reign in pursuing LaRoche?"

"Yes. Within reason, Jane. I'd prefer laws be bent, not broken, if possible. Are you capable of that, because you've already broken one law that I know of in this." She of course meant how he'd gotten his hands on LaRoche's file.

"I'll try," he said reluctantly.

"Okay, then. Your turn."

When he saw her expression—open and waiting expectantly—Jane felt his heart suddenly accelerate. He felt a little light-headed, and he knew it wasn't just because of his aching face. Red John's secrets were his. If he shared any of them, he would lose the little control he felt he had where his nemesis was concerned. He could be putting Lisbon in even more danger, he could be sabotaging his chances to find him at last. He felt the icy cold hand of fear gripping his shoulder, as he took himself back in time a year before to an abandoned building. The images bombarded him, the face of the macabre, clown-like face of Red John, saving his life, speaking to him in that soft, chilling voice that had added to his nightmares ever since.

Lisbon watched the uncharacteristic display of emotions flitting across Jane's face. He was usually much more guarded than this, hiding his true feelings behind a blinding smile. But now she could see (as her own heart commenced pounding) that he was at war with himself, struggling to decide what he could and could not tell her. He brought one of their joined hands to his mouth, kissing the back of it, closing his eyes so she wouldn't see how torn up he was, how he felt like he was about to plunge off a high precipice. He lowered their hands, took a deep breath, and allowed himself to fall.

"Okay…I lied to you. Back when Red John saved me, he uh…he _did_ speak to me."

This was no real surprise; she'd thought so all along. No, the real surprise was that he was telling her now, and that whatever he'd kept from her must have been either so terrible or so meaningful that he feared what she would do with the information.

"What did he say?" she asked, her voice hushed with fear.

"A quote, from a poem by William Blake. I don't know why he would tell it to me; I don't know what it means to him, but it is obviously symbolic of something. He didn't explain himself, but he took great pleasure in sharing it with me. It must have a clue in it somewhere. I've poured over everything Blake has ever written, studied his biography. I'm beginning to wonder if Red John just said this to get me off the track, to drive me even crazier."

Lisbon felt oddly let down, but he was right; Red John did everything for a twisted reason.

"What was the quote?"

Jane recited the first stanza of "The Tyger," and Lisbon nodded, remembering studying this poem her senior year of high school.

"It has a companion piece, doesn't it? 'The Lamb,'I think."

"Yes." He let loose of her hands and stood up, pacing a little, running his hands nervously through his hair. "If you like, I could recite that one too," he boasted with a trace of irony.

He couldn't believe he'd shared this with her, and he suddenly felt a little panicky, as if Red John himself might appear as if he'd been summoned by speaking the poem aloud. All these months, it had been Jane alone who had known this information, had kept it and nurtured it like a newborn baby. _His_ baby. Well, it wasn't just his, anymore.

Lisbon watched his fretful movements, and, despite her best efforts, felt a sudden sense of betrayal. "Why couldn't you have told me this before? Maybe I could have helped given you some insight. Maybe someone else on the team—Cho, for example; he's well-read—maybe he could have—"

"No!" Jane exploded, making her flinch in reaction. "Red John gave this information to _me_. It's _mine_, and clearly wasn't meant for anyone else to know." He looked around nervously and lowered his voice again. "Knowledge is power, Lisbon. He gave _me_ this power. _Me_. And I don't think he wanted me to share it. If he finds out I told someone else—"

"How do you know he didn't want you to tell anyone? You may think you know this man, but you really don't, do you? He's created this persona, this horrible monster who wants us all to bow down in fear at the mere mention of his name. He's toying with you; he always toys with you. I think you're right, that he's just messing with your head here. You're letting him control you. How many wakeful nights have you spent on this? How many wasted hours reading the books of a long-dead poet to try to find some clue that might not even be there?"

Part of him knew she was right—the sane, logical part. The obsessed, paranoid part was unfortunately what took over his mind when it came to anything Red John.

"That's just it, Lisbon. I _don't_ know. It torments me, just that aspect alone. I can't discount it. I can't forget it or move on. My one time to have come face-to-face with the animal who murdered my family, and this is what he says to me? He could have made threats. He could have killed me and ended my suffering, but he didn't, and that in itself means something, don't you see?"

She stood up and saw his tortured expression. Forgetting for a moment that they were in the bullpen in the middle of the day, she took him into her arms. "Stop doing this to yourself," she soothed. "You're not alone in this anymore, okay?"

Her words weren't helping at all, and he had felt no catharsis by opening up to her. On the contrary, he was feeling a huge sense of buyer's remorse. He didn't know if he could do this again, with the even graver secrets he still had locked away in his tortured brain. He breathed in her apple-scented hair and tried to push his fears away.

"Thank you for telling me,"she was whispering into his neck, rubbing his back like a child's.

"Oh, God, Lisbon. Don't thank me. By telling you, I might have damned you to hell along with me."

The pointed clearing of a conspiratorial throat made the two lovers jump apart, their eyes flying to the doorway where Cho was just coming in from lunch. They stood at a more professional distance as Rigsby and Van Pelt followed only seconds behind. Once again, Cho had covered for them. But the other team members were experts at sensing discord, and they looked at Jane and Lisbon with concern.

"Everything okay, Boss?" asked Rigsby.

"Yeah. Fine."

"Looks like you're gonna have quite the shiner, Jane," commented Rigsby, nodding at the consultant's already purpling injury.

"Yeah, you should see the other guys," Jane joked.

"Eww…does it hurt?" asked Van Pelt, squinting at the ugly bruise.

Jane grinned for everyone's benefit. "Only when I laugh. Thanks for your concern, though, really. I'll be fine. Now, Lisbon, you were going to loan me some aspirin…?"

"Oh, right. It's in my office."

The three agents watched their boss and coworker move out into the hall and down to Lisbon's office. They'd purposefully avoided asking why LaRoche had socked him, falling back instead on speculation that ranged from Jane casting aspersions on his dead mother to somehow interfering with LaRoche's ongoing investigation into Hightower's disappearance. The latter seemed much more likely to Rigsby and Van Pelt; Cho stayed resolutely silent on the matter, and no one ever questioned a mum Cho.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please? And I promise to have a tag for this week's new episode (I'm so excited!). See you then.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: This next chapter is a bit of comic relief, which is certainly a relief for me too, lol. Hope you like it.

**Chapter 8**

That night, someone knocked on Jane's door. His heart picked up speed, and he offered out a silent plea to the universe that it was Lisbon. Things had been better between them the rest of the day, since he'd shared what Red John had said to him, but their relationship was by no means off the rocks. When he'd asked to see her after work, she'd claimed tiredness, and he couldn't help but feel summarily dismissed. She needed more time, he supposed, to deal with her feelings of betrayal. _Women. _So when the knock came, he couldn't help but hope she'd changed her mind.

He squinted through the peephole to see J.J. LaRoche on the other side of his door. He wondered if the man had brought his gun to finish him off. As he watched the big man standing there, obviously uncomfortable, he noticed another person just behind and to the side of LaRoche. Jane grinned and opened the door.

"J.J. How nice of you to come for a visit. And look…you've brought Jessie! How wonderful!" He held out a hand in a sweeping gesture. "Come in, please…both of you."

LaRoche noted the rainbow of colors surrounding Jane's eye and cheek, and his lips twitched slightly in satisfaction. Jane offered an answering grin. _Let him think he's got the upper hand…for now._

The couple was obviously feeling very awkward, and Jane seemed to feed off of it. He indicated that they sit in his spartan living room while he put on the tea kettle. Jane joined them, sitting in a chair across from the couch the pair shared. "So, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"John is here to apologize for hitting you," Jessie said firmly.

"Oh, no," Jane said benignly. "No apologies necessary. He felt like I was interfering in his life, which I certainly was. But my intention was not to hurt you, Jessie. For that, I owe _you _an apology."

"Well…Agent Cho told me you were messing with John and using me to do it because John wouldn't let you stay in the CBI attic anymore."

_Good old Cho…_

"Yes," Jane agreed readily. "That's true. Though now that I hear it voiced aloud, it sounds rather childish, wouldn't you say?" Jane shot LaRoche, who had not said a word up to that point, a meaningful glance. His words put it up to interpretation as to who was really being the childish one here.

Jessie nudged LaRoche, cuing his apology. He cleared his throat.

"Mr. Jane, I let my temper get the better of me and took my anger out on you in a highly inappropriate and unprofessional manner. Please accept my apology."

Jane allowed the tension to mount, as if he were considering whether or not to accept. In truth, the unexpected pummeling had been a nice enhancement of his plan. He'd only counted on LaRoche's anger—a physical outburst was just an added bonus. Jessie was literally sitting on the edge of her seat, fearful no doubt that Jane might choose to take some legal recourse.

"I accept your apology, J.J.," he said at last.

"You're not going to press charges are you?" Jesse asked anxiously.

"Now, Jessie—"

Jane almost laughed. "No, Jessie. Have no worries on that score. I hope we can put this unfortunate business behind us. We do have to work together, right?"

"Yes, Mr. Jane," agreed LaRoche ironically, "we do." If Jessie hadn't been there, Jane was sure he would have added, "and remember, I'm the boss."

Jessie looked wholeheartedly relieved. As the teakettle whistled, Jane got up to get a tray and tea service, throwing some cookies onto a plate and setting the lot down on the coffee table. It was all very civilized, at least in appearance.

Ignoring the silent contempt between the two men, Jessie filled the room with her musical chatter, while offering to pour the tea. "If you truly mean to put this behind us, Patrick, I propose that we go ahead with your original idea for a birthday party for John. We could close down the restaurant and I'd make all his favorite foods. Everyone in the CBI would be invited, of course—"

"Jess-" LaRoche began, in halfhearted warning.

"Whatever Patrick had planned to get back at you, that's obviously a moot point now. Why not celebrate your special day? And there are other things to celebrate too now, John, aren't there?" She looked at LaRoche, blue eyes sparkling with love. _So,_ thought Jane, _the lovebirds have reconnected. Perfect._

LaRoche looked back at his former fiancé, patting her skirt-clad thigh, seemingly lost in the moment. This just reinforced Jane's opinion that love was definitely blind, at least on Jessie's part. Jane cleared his throat, then took a sip of chamomile. The couple directed their rather glazed eyes toward him.

"I'm up for a party," Jane smiled gently at Jessie. "Who knows, with all this tension around the office since Hightower's disappearance, maybe a non-work-related get-together is just the thing. You should talk to Agent Van Pelt, Jessie. She's probably loaded with ideas and will be more than happy to help you organize things."

"Won't she be too busy with her wedding plans…?" LaRoche suggested.

"Meh, women thrive on being multi-taskers. Wouldn't hurt to ask."Jane had no qualms in volunteering Grace's time.

"Great! John and I have been out of touch for awhile. It would be nice to have one of his friends helping me to know whom I should invite." She reached for a cookie and nibbled it delicately.

Jane tried very hard not to snicker. LaRoche was nobody's friend—at least not in the Serious Crimes Unit.

"The big five-o is coming up, eh?" Jane said conversationally, unable to resist the little jab at his boss's age. "That's quite a milestone. Half a century. Wow."

"With age comes much wisdom," he replied, bringing his own cup to his lips.

Jessie laughed. "That was on our fortune cookie at lunch today, John."

"True nonetheless," said Jane with a grin. "Those Chinese fortune cookie writers are great philosophers. And from what I know of my pal J.J. here, he is very wise indeed. He always seems to know just when to back off." LaRoche's expression didn't change, but there was a hardening of his eyes that made the atmosphere in the room grow suddenly much colder.

"And _Patrick _here, well he's still one of those young whipper-snappers. He doesn't tend to think through his actions first."

Jessie looked with alarm from one man to the other. "Gentlemen, please—" she cautioned softly.

"No worries, Jessie; have another cookie. Marie's Bakery is known for their lovely pecan sandies."

"Yes, they are," concurred LaRoche, taking a bite of a buttery cookie. His third, at Jane's count.

But the men weren't looking at the voluptuous redhead; they were sizing each other up in a way that it was obvious that each found the other wanting.

Jessie took one more polite sip of her tea and glanced at LaRoche. "John, Don't you think we should be going? Let Patrick enjoy the rest of his evening. Maybe put some more ice on that eye."

"Very well," said LaRoche, almost too quickly to be polite. The whole apology and stay-for-tea thing had to have been all Jessie's idea.

_She was certainly leading the big man around by his…nose…_

They all rose and Jane escorted them to the door, opening it for them and leaning against it as his unexpected guests walked out.

"Thank you for the tea," Jessie said, turning back to their host. "I'll let you know the details for the party. Too bad it won't be a surprise."

"Oh, I'd say it was a surprise." Jane's grin had a slight edge to it.

"Well, uh…good-night, Patrick."

"Good night, Jessie. See you tomorrow, _Boss._" Jane considered giving the man a nice big bear hug, but decided that might be pushing things a bit too far, even with Jessie there to prevent another beating.

LaRoche couldn't help his wry smirk. "Yes you will, Jane. Good night."

As soon as they reached the parking lot, Jane closed the door and picked up his phone. He felt an overpowering need to share what had happened with his best friend.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon had just gotten out of a long, hot bath when her phone rang. She grabbed a towel, wrapped it around herself, and answered it.

"Hey, sweetheart," came Jane's voice, low and sexy. She couldn't help but shiver when he spoke to her like that. She left the steamy bathroom for the comfort of her bed, sprawling across it with a tired sigh, the phone held tightly to her ear.

"Hi, Jane. It's late…"

"Yeah, I know. I just wanted to tell you about my late-night visitors."

She was intrigued in spite of herself. He told her about LaRoche and Jessie, the upcoming birthday party, and their boss's barely sincere apology.

"He was just saving his own ass," she said in her usual, direct way.

"Yeah, even Jessie wasn't fooled by that."

Lisbon paused a moment, imagining the luscious redhead she'd met earlier. She'd noted how Jessie Lynch turned the head of every man in the office, even Cho. She was surprised at the twinge of jealousy she felt at the thought of such a sensual woman sitting on Jane's couch.

"I met her today. She seems like a nice person. I hope you feel bad for screwing with her."

"It's nothing personal," Jane said, and it occurred to him that she sounded just a bit…jealous. He couldn't resist finding out for sure. "But she's quite a woman. _All woman, _as my dad would say."

And there it was: the telltale snort of envy. He grinned, but moved on, secure that he could still engender that kind of emotion in the woman he loved, despite their recent differences.

"Anyway, in the interest of _glasnost_, I thought I'd share these latest developments with you, without delay."

"Thank you, Mr. Gorbachev," she responded dryly. "Does this new openness include your reasons for reintroducing Jessie to LaRoche? Your plan to remove him from his exalted position in the Serious Crimes Unit?"

"Not yet, my dear. Patience. But let me just say, things are falling into place even more smoothly than I had hoped."

"Glad to hear it. I hope to God nothing backfires here, or it could mean both of our jobs."

"Have faith, Lisbon. Oh, and by the way, what are you wearing?"

"What?" she laughed in surprise.

"You heard me."

"We are so not doing that."

"By _that_, you mean phone sex? Come on; it'll be fun. Are you in bed?"

"Stop it," she chuckled. "Don't make me hang up on you."

"How about phone heavy petting?"

A bark of laughter escaped from her, and he could imagine her eyes closed, her nose crinkled in humor, and it reached across the line to squeeze his heart with warmth. "No!"she protested.

"First base?"

"Good night, Jane."

"Good night. Oh, and Lisbon?"

"What?"

"I miss you," he said softly, the laughter fading from his voice.

She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Try as she may, she couldn't stay mad at him. She was still hurt by their recent arguments, and by the fact that she knew he was still keeping things from her. But she didn't have the strength to kick him out of her life, or to even stick to her ultimatums. She loved him, and there was simply no escaping that.

"I miss you too," she said, then hung up before he could hear that she was crying.

A/N: More to come soon. Thanks for reading. Since you can't reward me with chocolate, a lovely review would do! (And I promise to reply to all your reviews for the last chapter later today. Thanks!)


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Sorry for the delay of this chapter. I've been involved in end of school stuff, plus I was out of town a few days. But now summer is here, and I have more time to devote to my writing. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Thanks for your patience!

**Chapter 9**

Over the next several days, Jessie Lynch became a regular fixture round the CBI HQ, and everyone loved her, of course. Grace, despite her own busy wedding planning, was happy to help Jessie with the party plans for the birthday boy, but LaRoche, normally a very private individual, was having a difficult time keeping his personal life personal. Jane took great delight in how LaRoche became increasingly uncomfortable with her presence, but he kept a comfortable distance from the whole situation, quietly observing and smiling to himself as he lay on his couch. He loved it when a plan came together.

Lisbon still shied away from him for the most part, although he often caught her looking his way, and he noted the longing in her eyes, along with the sadness. He wanted to tell her more about his secrets, but even the thought of sharing what he'd kept from her all these months made his stomach clench. She would be so furious with him, so hurt. He quite possibly would lose her forever. But he could be putting her in danger, which was what made him continue to keep mum. Besides, he had LaRoche to focus on, and with his attention now firmly on Jessie, Jane felt a weight lifted from his own shoulders. Everything was going as he'd predicted; all they needed now was a case to seal the deal. It came even sooner than he'd hoped.

Lisbon breezed in that afternoon, carrying a case file in her hands and waiting expectantly for her team to gather around the bullpen conference table. Jessie had left an hour before to supervise her restaurant's lunch rush.

"Kidnapping case," Lisbon said, passing the file to Cho. "Young daughter of a state senator. They're trying to avoid federal involvement, so if we act quickly, we can solve this thing and keep it a state incident." She glanced over at Jane's couch, where he still lay, seemingly asleep, but listening to every word. "Jane! Get your butt off that couch and come with us to the senator's house."

He gave a mock groan of annoyance, sat up and then stood, stretching. "Hold your water, woman. I'm coming."

She gave him a dirty look, to which he just grinned. Rigsby stifled an amused snicker.

"Let's go," Lisbon said irritably.

A few minutes later, and they were all loaded up in the SUV. Jane took out his cell phone, punched a few buttons, and sent the e-mail he'd been waiting for the opportune moment to send. He smiled to himself and put his phone back in his pocket.

"So, Lisbon," he said to their driver. "has there been a ransom demand?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later that night, Jane and Lisbon sat in the SUV, staking out the ransom drop location from a good distance, while the rest of the team waited in the surrounding bushes of the park where the senator himself would hand over the briefcase of cash. Lisbon lowered her night vision binoculars from the open window and resolutely kept a cold shoulder toward Jane.

"We're supposed to be a couple making out in the park," he complained. "You want to blow our cover?"

"No, Jane, I just want to be prepared to pounce when the drop is made."

He reached out a hand and touched her arm. "Come here," he said softly, enticingly. She couldn't resist turning her head to glance down at his hand. He felt her shiver in reaction, but her eyes remained bland. She was a great actress, his Lisbon, but he knew for a fact she wasn't made of stone. His other hand rose to caress her cheek, and her eyes fell closed at his touch. He leaned uncomfortably across the middle console and brought his lips gently to hers. Her breath hitched—all the invitation he needed—and his tongue slid out to taste her.

"No…Jane…I'm supposed to be-"

But once she'd opened her mouth, he moved in for the kill and she moaned softly in surrender. Pretty soon they were doing a fair imitation of two Lover's Lane teenagers, their days without physical contact threatening to overwhelm them. That is, until the distant sound of Cho and Van Pelt's yelled warnings snapped Lisbon out of the sensual spell Jane had spun, and he found himself pushed unceremoniously back into his seat. Lisbon was out of the vehicle like a shot, and Jane sat back, breathing heavily; heavily aroused.

"Dammit," he muttered in frustration. More yells made him open his eyes and grab the discarded binoculars. Apparently the kidnapper had shown up, taken the briefcase, but had grabbed Senator Haskell and was holding a gun to the man's head. The CBI team members were warning him to drop the weapon, but the desperate man only wanted to get the hell out of there. Jane scanned the woods around the dimly lit scene, located Lisbon's stealthily approaching figure, along with several state police who had been hidden within the park, now encroaching upon the drop site.

A shot rang out and Jane jumped, then swung the binoculars back to the kidnapper, who was howling in pain at the bullet that had ripped into his gun toting arm. It had been a bold move—a dangerous one—but Rigsby emerged triumphantly as Cho tackled the injured man and Van Pelt pulled the senator away from the fray.

Jane jumped down from the SUV to join his team and assess the situation more closely.

"Good shot, Rigsby," Jane grinned.  
>"Thanks,"replied the lanky agent, appearing to be modest, but Jane knew he was bursting with pride at his lucky shot.<p>

"Cho, get him back to HQ for questioning," Lisbon ordered.

"Right, Boss." The kidnapper was groaning in pain as Cho handcuffed him, and Van Pelt hastily applied a bandage to staunch the bleeding of the flesh wound.

Senator Haskell, breathing heavily, turned to Lisbon, the light of abject fear in his eyes. "Now what, Agent? My daughter is still out there. If she ends up dead—"

"Don't worry, Senator. Cho is my top interrogator. He'll have it out of him in no time." _I hope, _she added silently.

"He's probably working with one other person who's somewhere holding your daughter," Jane told the anxious father. "They won't kill her; she's still valuable to them, and they know they still have the upper hand here. I'm sure we'll be hearing from them soon. Oh, hey…Senator. Are you… bleeding?"

"Uh…" Haskell looked down at his chest, and with Jane's words, suddenly felt the twinge of pain making its way to his brain through all his excited endorphins. Rigsby's lucky shot apparently hadn't been completely lucky. The senator's eyes rolled back in his head and he abruptly collapsed.

"Shit!" exclaimed Lisbon, dropping down beside him. "Medic!"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Where the hell is LaRoche?" CBI director Gale Betram cried back at HQ. With the senator's injury—albeit minor and not life threatening—and his daughter still in the hands of her kidnapper, this had taken on an entirely new urgency. His top agent in the Serious Crimes Unit should be there to help supervise this mess. If Cho couldn't get the girl's location out of their suspect, the Feds would have to be called and then the shit would really hit the fan. The last thing Betram wanted was more bad press for himself and the CBI.

"I've tried calling him several times, sir," Lisbon said calmly. "I've left messages, but he hasn't returned my calls."

Jane said nothing, turning his attention back to Cho's interrogation of their suspect, who sat in the room behind the one-way glass, his arm bandaged, anger oozing from every pore. As Cho turned on his best game face, no one noticed the slight twitch of Jane's lips as he overheard Betram's continued call for the suspiciously absent Agent J.J. LaRoche.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jessie collapsed against the body of her naked lover, panting with her passionate release. LaRoche was puffing with his own ecstasy, and his hand came shakily up to smooth the redhead's curly hair from her flushed cheeks. He couldn't believe she was here with him, having sent him an e-mail out of the blue to meet him at the River Canyon Bed and Breakfast. It had simply stated that she wanted to be with him, to meet him in Room Eleven, to not speak a word, to only feel. When she'd opened the door to him, wearing nothing but a sexy red negligee, LaRoche, overcome with desire and love, said nothing, taking her in his arms and kissing her. They'd quickly ended up on the bed, and one thing had happily led to another.

"Oh God, John," she was whispering against his chest. "I've missed you so much. I love you."

"I love you too, Jess," he said through his tight throat, kissing the top of her head. He knew they had a new case, but he had every faith that Agent Lisbon could handle it. And frankly, nothing could have kept him from meeting Jessie, to reunite in every way with his lost love. It was totally unlike him to act so impulsively, but Jessie Lynch had always tended to addle his brain. He smiled and kissed her again. No matter the consequences, it had been totally worth it.

"When I got your e-mail," she was saying, "telling me to meet you here wearing something red and sexy, I couldn't believe you would do something so utterly romantic. I was so surprised—"

LaRoche stiffened, sitting up against the ornate headboard. "What e-mail?" he snapped.

As Jessie began to recite words he had never written, it became obvious that they had been victims of an elaborate set up, and LaRoche knew immediately who had orchestrated it.

"That son of a bitch!" he growled, reaching for his pants to pull out his cell phone. "Dammit!"

"What?" Jessie said cluelessly, shaken that her perfect encounter with the love of her life had suddenly, unaccountably made him extremely angry. He was looking at his phone in fury.

"John? What's wrong?"

"No reception. Of course! We're in a goddamn canyon!" He got out of bed and began dressing again, noting in additional rage that there was no telephone in the room. It was a love nest; there should be no need for phones when you're supposed to be wrapped in your lover's arms, just like they'd been only seconds before.

"I'm gonna kill him," LaRoche was muttering to himself.

Jessie reached for her satin robe, stilling her lover with her hands. She'd put two and two together and realized what had happened.

"Jane did this? The e-mails, this B and B?"

"Yes, that sneaky bastard. I'll have his head for this."

Tears sprang to her eyes as she looked at the man she loved, so angry after the beautiful time they had just shared. "Are you…sorry this happened?"

LaRoche realized at once how it all must seem to her now. He stopped imagining separating Jane's head from his body and focused on Jessie. She was so lovely, radiant even, in the afterglow. He reached for her hands and held them both to his lips.

"I'm sorry. Of course I don't regret this. That was—that was incredible. You know how much I've missed you, how much I love you."

"Then maybe you should be thinking about thanking Patrick, rather than killing him in horrible ways."

LaRoche allowed himself a small smile at her naiveté, her pure goodness. That's why he'd fallen in love with her in the first place, not just because of her luscious body and the amazing fact that she had fallen for him too.

"Okay," he admitted. "Part of me is grateful that he compelled me to do something I was too afraid to do on my own. But don't fool yourself into thinking this was some romantic, altruistic gesture on Jane's part. He's up to something, and he wanted me out of pocket so he could do something behind my back. For that, he's going to pay. I warned him not to interfere in my personal life." He let loose her hands and reached for his shirt. "And he'll definitely be paying for that, if it's the last thing I do."

She watched him silently as he continued putting on the tie she'd hastily removed not long before, then his socks, shoes, and suit coat.

"I'm sorry, Jessie," he was saying, returning his phone to his pants pocket. "I have to get back and see what mess Jane's left me."

"I know," she said. "But please…don't be too hard on Patrick. I have a feeling about him. He's a good man at heart; he's just been through something terrible, I can feel it. Maybe he doesn't know how to relate to people anymore."

LaRoche smiled again, then pulled Jessie back into his arms, kissing her passionately. "You're too good to be true, Jess," he whispered. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Okay," she replied, eyes tear bright. "Please, John. Be careful."

"I will. I love you." He went to the door, taking in the vision of her, clad in red, sitting on the disarrayed bed. The fact that he had to leave her now added to the list of reasons to beat the living hell out of Patrick Jane. With deep regret, he closed the door behind him and headed back out of the inn.

A/N: In answer to some people's question: yes, I do want you to feel sorry for LaRoche, but at the same time, not _too_ mad at Jane. After all, he is making LaRoche and Jessie happy, despite his ulterior motives. I hope you liked this chapter enough to leave a review. And also, please be on the lookout for my tag for tonight's episode. See you then!


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: From the response to that last chapter, I should have put a warning: Caution: LaRoche Love Scene! LOL. Hey, creepy CBI guys need love too! I have been trying to humanize him, because I want things to be a little in the gray area where Jane is concerned. If we simply hated LaRoche, that would be too easy, wouldn't it? So, if you had heretofore hated LaRoche (as did I) and now you are starting to like him, my devious plan is working. Thanks for the great feedback. Now, onward with…

**Chapter 10**

"Where the hell have you been?" roared Gale Bertram. LaRoche had arrived back at HQ, out of breath for the second time that day, but for much less pleasurable reasons. He glanced over at Jane, who sat on his damnable couch in the bullpen, a deceptively innocent smile on his face. LaRoche managed to shoot him a quick glance that clearly said: _I'll deal with you later, asshole._

"Sorry, sir. I was in a place without cell phone reception. I came as soon as I could."

"Ha," said Jane. When everyone on the team looked his way, he waved them off with a sheepish grin. "Sorry. Don't mind me."

"Well, next time a case arises, you damn well better stay within ear shot."

"Yes, sir," LaRoche replied tightly, the anger at a constant simmer just below the surface.

"Haskell was shot in the ransom drop,"Bertram continued, "but fortunately the bullet missed his heart and passed through his body with little damage. He's awake and demanding the Feds get on his daughter's kidnapping."

"Sir," said Lisbon from the conference table near the television. "Look at this."

It was a breaking news story, and cameras zoomed in on Senator Haskell, in bed in his hospital room. He was looking straight into the camera, pleading for the kidnappers not to harm his little girl, and for someone—anyone—to call in with any information about where they could find her. He'd offered a million dollar reward.

"Dammit!" Bertram exclaimed. "Who the hell authorized this?"

"I don't know sir. But maybe this could help…"Lisbon said, trying to look on the bright side.

"Hmmm," said Jane in concern, having joined them at the TV. "I'm afraid he's just killed his daughter."

"Why do you say that, Jane?" asked Bertram.

Jane shrugged, but inside, he was trembling with fear for the little girl who was being held somewhere in God only knew what kind of conditions. How frightened she must be. How she must wish her daddy were there to protect her from the bad people who took her away from her home. He looked at his de facto boss with a grimace.

"With a reward that high, her keeper will get desperate. Desperate people do desperate things. He—or she—may not think it's worth the risks now."

Bertam, never wanting to appear at fault for anything—especially in the media, turned on LaRoche. "If that girl dies, it's all on you, LaRoche!"

"What?" he said in shock.

"You weren't here to control your people. The way that ransom drop went down was atrocious. I've already had to suspend Rigsby for taking that idiotic shot and nearly killing the senator."

"What?" repeated LaRoche numbly, looking around the table at Lisbon and Van Pelt, who avoided eye contact, embarrassed for him to have received a dressing down in front of his team. Jane, however, met his eyes with a mixture of fear and loathing.

A cell phone buzzed, and Bertram's aid brought it to his ear. Everyone paused to see what bombshell would be dropped next.

"Sir," said Bertram's aid, after disconnecting the call. "The governor wants to see you, along with the Feds. They're at the Capitol building."

"Shit! LaRoche, you better make damn sure Cho is able to get information from the suspect, or there'll be hell to pay. I figure he has thirty minutes before the Feds get here and take over."

"Yes, sir. We're on it."

"And don't screw this up. Any more unprofessional behavior, like skipping out on a case or sucker-punching one of your team members, and you'll be spearing trash on the side of the freeway, you got me?"

"Yes sir."

With that, the director and his aid headed out of the bullpen and straight toward the elevator.

"How's Jessie?" Jane asked LaRoche, filling the shocked silence left in their wake.

LaRoche literally saw red, and it took both Lisbon and Van Pelt to hold back the big man. Jane retreated to his couch.

"Sir, please!" Lisbon grunted against his barrel chest. "Forget about him. We need to get to the interrogation room."

LaRoche abruptly came to his senses and made a heroic attempt to settle down. This violent reaction was totally out of character for him, and he knew if he didn't get hold of his emotions, his skyrocketing blood pressure would land him in the hospital right alongside Senator Haskins. He looked down at the two women and almost laughed at their valiant efforts to keep him from killing Jane. Of course, who knows what he might have done had they not stood in his way.

"You're quite correct, Agent Lisbon. Forgive me. That man—he brings out the worst in people."

All three were glaring at Jane who had the decency for once to keep the annoying grin off his face. LaRoche turned toward the hallway and Van Pelt followed after. Lisbon went over to her soon-to-be ex-lover.

"Hey," she said. "Could you take it down a notch, please? We're in the middle of a crisis here."

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I couldn't help myself."

"Well, you'd better." She rubbed her sore forearm, which she'd strained in the attempt to hold back Mount LaRoche. "What the hell did you do to him?"

Jane reached out to rub her arm, immediately feeling guilty that his plans had in any way hurt Lisbon. She gasped a little in pain, and he eased his ministrations until she sighed in relief, trying to ignore the tingle she felt whenever he touched her.

"I set him up in a love nest with Jessie. I was doing him a favor, really. No phones. No cares of the outside world to interfere…"

"No emergency calls from the CBI…He didn't look too happy to me," she said.

Jane smiled. "Oh, he was not long ago, trust me. Didn't you see how his pants were halfway unzipped and his tie was askew? That man just emerged from some major afternoon delight. He should be thanking me."

Lisbon smirked and headed out of the bullpen, Jane at her side. "I'm sure after the reaming out he just got from Bertram, you won't be getting a thank you card anytime soon. Just stay out of his way, will ya? For a little while? For my sake as well as the sake of that poor little girl?"

Jane sobered at once. "You're right, Lisbon. Maybe I can help Cho to get that monster in there to crack. You wouldn't be opposed to a little hypnotism for a good cause, would ya?"

"I thought you said it was over for her."

"Not if I can help it," said Jane, with new determination. It was like he'd finally woken up. Whenever he was in revenge mode, he tended to be blinded to the rest of the world. She considered him a moment, then gave him a brief nod.

"Do what you gotta do."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Two hours later, and the CBI, along with the FBI Hostage Rescue Team, gathered outside an old farmhouse in the middle of a peach orchard. The house was dark, save for a small glimmer of candlelight from somewhere on the second floor. The two teams had moved in stealthily and surrounded the house, while Jane stayed a safe distance away behind a tree, enjoying the scent of peach blossoms in the evening spring air. Turns out, he hadn't had to use hypnosis after all. The million dollar reward offer had netted a tip that a man and a little girl fitting the Haskell girl's description were holed up in this house. Cho had "encouraged" the suspect to confirm the location, threatening all manner of prison scenarios if he didn't cooperate.

As if to make up for his recent lapse, LaRoche had decided to join the strike team. He wore a bullet-proof vest specially made for his large frame, a gas mask pulled back on his bald head. It had been awhile since he'd done much field work, and there was a dogged look in his eyes now because he knew he had something to prove. He drew his weapon and mentally prepared for the assault.

Rigsby had shown up at the scene, but due to his suspension wasn't allowed to join his teammates. He couldn't stay away, however, but stood with Jane beneath the tree.

"Don't feel bad, Wayne," Jane whispered. "I think you did the right thing. Betram was just pissed off because it led to the Feds' involvement."

"It wasn't a clean shot," said Rigsby. "It was too risky. I should have known better."

"Meh. Sometimes you've gotta take risks, you know that. Besides, as soon as the girl's rescued, you'll be back eating your way through the break room fridge in no time." Jane's grin flashed in the dim light.

"Gee, thanks for the encouragement."

Just then, the popping sound of launched tear gas grenades filled the air, along with the subsequent breaking of glass as they crashed through the upstairs windows. The strike teams pulled down their gas masks, battered open the door, and went inside.

Jane and Rigsby squinted through the darkness, hearing the sudden shouts, a child's scream, and the staccato sound of gunfire, then…silence. They waited, holding their breath.

A sudden shout ripped harshly through the stillness: "Man down! Man down!"

Jane and Rigsby looked at each other. The women they cared about were in there, and while Rigsby didn't know the extent of Jane's feelings for one of them in particular, they both shared in the worry equally. Jane's heart pounded loudly in his chest, and even though he'd seen Lisbon in dangerous situations many times before, interject love into the equation, and for Jane it equaled gut wrenching terror.

Then, from out of the smoke filled house emerged Van Pelt, carrying the squalling child, whose eyes were streaming from the tear gas. Rigsby smiled his relief as Van Pelt called for medical assistance, violating orders by rushing to her aid. Jane hung back, waiting for another word of what was going on inside the house. A Fed came out, ripping off his mask and yelling into a cell phone.

"We need an ambulance. CBI member down, shot in the femoral artery. We're trying to get the bleeding to stop, but you should get here asap before we have a bleed out…"

Jane couldn't listen anymore. Now that the kidnapping victim was rescued, he ignored any residual danger and walked quickly through the orchard to the house. A body was brought out—the bullet ridden corpse of the kidnapper. Jane looked upon him in immense satisfaction, but his mind still flitted to Lisbon.

"Where's Agent Lisbon?" he asked one of the Feds. The man jerked his head toward the house. "She's still in there. We can't do much until the ambulance comes."

"Who was hit?" he asked, realizing he needed to be more direct. He knew now that it could only be Lisbon, Cho or LaRoche in there, possibly bleeding to death from the large artery in their leg.

"Big guy. He got caught in the crossfire. Agent LaRoche, I think his name is."

"Yeah," muttered Jane, and the agent went about his business. Jane was relieved it wasn't Lisbon or Cho, of course, but he suddenly had some very mixed feelings about it being LaRoche.

Twenty minutes later, the ambulance arrived from Sacramento, and the EMT's went inside the house with borrowed gas masks on. A few more minutes later, and LaRoche had been loaded onto a gurney and the paramedics were rolling him to the back of the ambulance. Lisbon and Cho followed behind, their hands stained with LaRoche's blood.

It was all Jane could do not to run up to her and take Lisbon into his arms. It was the first real danger she'd been in since they'd become lovers, and he didn't like that feeling of helplessness. No, not one bit. He settled for putting a friendly hand on her arm, for now.

"You okay?" he asked softly. She could tell he had been worried by the deepened creases around his eyes, and she longed to hold him and put his mind at ease. It had been an intense few minutes, their main worry being not to hit the child.

"Yeah. Not sure about LaRoche though." She looked over at their boss, who was unconscious and breathing into an oxygen mask.

Van Pelt approached them. "I called Jessie. She's meeting us at the hospital. She sounded hysterical."

"Yeah, and I'd better call Bertram," Lisbon sighed. "At least we got the girl out safely, but he's not gonna be too thrilled that someone else got shot."

"Maybe Haskell will put in a good word for us with the media," said Cho dryly. They all smirked—that wouldn't be likely. The Feds would get all the credit for this one. The ambulance roared away, and Van Pelt offered to follow LaRoche and meet Jessie at the hospital.

When Lisbon had finished her call to the big boss, the two teams went into action again, cordoning off the crime scene with the familiar yellow tape, searching the house for evidence to be used at trial. Senator Haskell's wife arrived in a sheriff's car, and mother and daughter were reunited. Jane and Lisbon stood by watching, enjoying the happy ending that so rarely came with their work.

"Hey," said Jane to Lisbon in a low voice. "Come with me for a minute."

She looked at him suspiciously. "Where?"

"Just come on. Trust me." That earned a skeptical eyebrow. Jane chuckled and grabbed her by the hand, leading her away from the crime scene to a quiet grove of blossoming peach trees. Before she could protest, he had her pushed against a tree, kissing her for all he was worth. Warmth pooled in his stomach when she kissed him back in the gathering darkness, allowing him to express with his mouth and hands the relief and love he was feeling that she was okay.

If she were totally honest with herself, Lisbon would admit that she'd been afraid too, while the bullets ripped through the air around them, that she might die without ever holding Jane again. This was why she'd never allowed herself to get so deeply involved with anyone. Her job wasn't conducive to a lasting relationship, and her relationships weren't conducive to being a good state agent.

"Don't do that to me again," Jane was saying, a rasp in his voice.

"Do what? My job?"

He smiled against her lips. "I know. You and the CBI are a package deal. I don't have to like it." And he swallowed her reply with his mouth.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane hated hospitals. There was nothing natural about them-not the smell, not the sounds, not the colors. He'd much rather be in the middle of a peach orchard on a cool spring evening, kissing Teresa. Instead, he was watching J.J. LaRoche through the window of the ICU, as Jessie Lynch held his hand and kissed his pasty white cheek. He would survive, but it would take a lot of physical therapy for him to ever walk well again. Lisbon joined Jane's solemn vigil.

"I guess you just might get what you want after all," she said. "LaRoche will be out of commission for a long time over this."

Jane's eyes didn't leave Jessie, and he imagined that was him in there, holding Lisbon's cold hand. He shuddered a little and shut his eyes briefly. "I might have wished him dead, Lisbon, but not seriously injured like this."

"Oh…I fail to see the logic in that, but hey, it's your revenge plot."

He shrugged, not insulted at all. "I hate to see any creature suffer, Lisbon. And I admit, I feel a little sorry for the guy. But mostly, I find myself feeling bad for Jessie. I dragged her back into his life, after all."

Lisbon looked over at him, assessing his sincerity. It was good for him to notice the consequences of his games. He was feeling uncharacteristically guilty for his part in this, so she purposefully twisted the knife a little. "And don't forget, LaRoche wouldn't have gone in with the strike team if he hadn't wanted to make things up to Bertram, a situation that you created."

"True," he agreed simply. They stood together in silence, watching Jessie's obvious fear and love for LaRoche. "I don't know, Lisbon," he said finally. "maybe I went about this all wrong."

"Oh, really? So, you're gonna give up now on trying to get him out?"

Jane thought about how LaRoche had invaded his privacy in the attic, then kicked him out of it. He thought of the way the man mercilessly interrogated his friends, temporarily demoted Lisbon, not to mention the rift all of this had caused in his relationship with Lisbon. But then he saw the tears in Jessie's eyes, as she lay her head on her lover's shoulder. So, did he want to give up? There was only one obvious answer for Patrick Jane:

"No way in hell."

A/N: Please forgive any poetic license I took with FBI/CBI kidnapping cases or medical crises. My only claim of knowledge is that I watch a lot of TV, lol. I didn't intend this to be a case fic, so forgive also the sketchy way I presented that. It was just a blatant plot device, I admit. And don't worry—I haven't forgotten that Jane and Lisbon still need to work on the matter of his many secrets. I'll deal with that in the next chapter.

If you haven't reviewed in awhile, I'd love to know how you think I'm doing…


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: This is the second chapter I've posted in as many days, so if you are behind, please go back and read Chapter 10 first, which I posted late Sunday night. I'm trying to finish this story before the season finale, since I have a feeling a lot of this fic will be obsolete after that. So, please be on the lookout for the final one or two chapters to be posted by this Thursday.

Chapter 11

The next day, LaRoche was moved out of ICU and into a private room. He could now receive more than one visitor at a time, and Jane was the second one in line. He smiled at Jessie, already at his bedside. She was wearing the same thing as yesterday, and the purple beneath her eyes attested to a restless night.

Jessie didn't return Jane's smile. "I think you should leave, Patrick. Your being here might upset him."

The patient opened his eyes at the sound of her firm tone. His eyes swung to Jane.

"That's okay, Jessie. I'd like to talk to Jane, actually. Why don't you take a break—go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat."

"But, John—"

He saw LaRoche squeeze her hand. "Please, sweetheart," he said softly. "I'll be fine."

"Alright," she consented. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes." She gave Jane a warning glance, to which Jane smiled again and nodded in understanding.

"She's very protective of you," he commented when she'd gone.

"Yes. I'm a lucky man."

There was an awkward silence, then LaRoche began to talk. "I want you to tell me why you tracked down Jessie, set us up at that inn—everything. You were obviously trying to mess with me for the gun incident. Seems a funny way to get back at me-giving me my heart's desire?"

Jane took a seat in the chair Jessie had abandoned. "Simple. I want you out of the CBI—at least, the Sacramento branch. I figured Jessie was just the person to distract you. I didn't like how you handled the Todd Johnson investigation, or your demotion of Lisbon. And I especially resented being kicked out of the attic, one of the few places I felt comfortable enough to think. And also, I don't think you are worthy of filling the shoes of people like Virgil Minnelli or even Hightower—"

"You don't think I'm worthy of filling the shoes of a murderer and a kidnapper?" LaRoche interrupted. "My, my, Jane. That's rather harsh criticism," he said, his tone laced with suspicion.

The two men regarded each other a moment. "Nevertheless," Jane continued, "I don't think you're a very good fit for this office."

"That's not really your choice now, is it? I could fire you right now for gross insubordination."

Jane chuckled. "But you won't. I'm the golden boy around here. Bertram may not like me either, but he knows I make the CBI look good by all those cases I tend to close, which also makes him look good for his constituents."

"Except the Haskell case. Didn't appear to me that your head was in the game on this one. Two people ended up shot, including yours, truly."

"But I wasn't the one Bertram was blaming last night, was I?"

Jane had him there. "I'll take part of the blame," LaRoche conceded, "but maybe Agent Lisbon should share in this too. After all, she's Rigsby's direct supervisor. She's also been on suspension a few times herself, mainly for being unable to control her people. More specifically—you. Maybe she's the one who should go."

Jane's eyes narrowed dangerously, as he leaned closer to the bed. "Listen, you little worm, this is between you and me. Leave Lisbon out of it and we'll settle this like men."

"You're very protective of her," he said mildly, throwing Jane's words back at him. "Almost like you would be toward a…_lover_. But that couldn't be true. Lisbon knows it's against CBI regulations for two members of the same-"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

LaRoche shrugged. "It's not fun to have some outsider interfering in your personal life, is it? But cameras don't lie, do they?"

Jane's mind was racing. He and Lisbon had been so careful to avoid physical contact at work. But last week, on the couch in the bullpen…_Dammit!_

"How long do you plan to sit on this information?" Jane asked quietly.

"I don't know. How long do you plan to go after my job?"

"Anyone ever tell you you're a real bastard, LaRoche?"

"Not as many that have likely told you…Jane."

"I guess we're at an impasse," Jane said coldly, but he felt like someone had kicked him in the gut. He rose just as Jessie was re-entering, carrying a covered to-go cup and a white paper sack.

"Everything okay here?" she asked, looking from one man to the other. LaRoche seemed quite at ease, but now Jane seemed distant, withdrawn.

"All is quite well, my love. Jane was just leaving."

"Yes. Feel better soon, Agent LaRoche," Jane said without sincerity. He nodded respectfully toward Jessie and left the hospital room.

"What was that all about?" Jessie asked, and Jane waited for his answer, standing around the corner, out of sight.

"Just shop talk. I don't think he'll be bothering us again on the personal front."

"Why not?" Jessie asked skeptically.

"Because he understands the value of privacy, that's why." LaRoche sounded like he knew Jane was still listening. "Sit down, Jessie, and show me what you have in that bag that smells so good…"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon had tried all day to get Jane on the phone, and he hadn't come in to work, so by five-thirty, she was so worried that she decided to leave earlier than usual and try to track him down. Since there was no active case, the rest of the team had left, and as she tapped her foot impatiently by the elevator, she heard the sound of metal upon metal and much cursing. It was coming from upstairs. Apparently, the CBI's attic had one very large rat.

Lisbon took the stairs and found said rat struggling with bolt cutters to remove the huge padlock LaRoche had spitefully slapped onto Jane's dirty, old rat hole door. Sweat had gathered on his brow, and his suit jacket and vest lay over the nearby railing. He was huffing with exertion, and she could see that he'd torn the skin of his hands in his vain attempt at breaking and entering.

"I believe your bolt cutters aren't big enough," she said, trying not to smile. "I'm afraid in some cases, size does in fact matter."

He stopped what he was doing to look at her amused expression. "You gonna berate me, or give me a hand here."

"I told you, your tool is too small. Maybe you can get a refund at the hardware store."

"Gee thanks, Lisbon. Just what every man wants to hear."

He groaned in frustration, then hit the lock with the cutters. He leaned his back against the door, sliding down to sit his tired ass on the floor. The cutters hit the linoleum with a clink of finality. "Shit!" he yelled at the top of his voice. Lisbon slid down beside him, and they sat together on the hard floor. Jane's breathing slowed, and he wiped his brow with his sleeve, closed his eyes, and banged the back of his head against the door a few times for good measure.

"You know," she ventured, "instead of trying to get back into your man cave, you could always try talking to me."

"The purpose of a man cave, Lisbon, is so man doesn't have to talk to woman."

"Well that's pretty cowardly, don't you think?"

He didn't dignify that with an answer.

She looked down at his hands where he'd hurt them in his struggles, and reached over to pick them up and examine the damage. She was surprised when he let her. "These abrasions will get infected if you don't wash them and keep them clean." He didn't comment. "So, you just trying to break in to spite LaRoche? Looks like you sure showed him," she said, shaking her head at his injuries.

"Well, while the cat's away…"

"The rat will play," she finished, smiling at her private joke.

He removed his hands from her grasp and fisted them in his lap. "It's all falling apart, Lisbon," he muttered. "I've lost this one."

"What are you talking about? LaRoche is out, at least for awhile."

He laughed shakily. "He'll be back. He's got something on me. On both of us, Lisbon. He knows about us, and he's blackmailing me now."

She drew in a shocked breath. "How? We've been so careful."

"He's an investigator, Teresa," he said tiredly. "He actually checks those surveillance tapes, the paranoid creep. He apparently saw the video of us making love on the couch last week."

She struggled to find her voice, then: "Why didn't he confront us with it right away?"

He turned his head to look at her, and it filtered into her mind that LaRoche just wanted a way to control them.

"It's all falling apart," he repeated. "This plan of mine. I'm losing my touch, I guess. If anything about Red John comes up now, he's not going to tell me. He's not gonna let me anywhere near such an investigation. It'll be like Bosco all over again."

Lisbon tried to ignore the involuntary squeeze of her heart at the mention of her old mentor and friend.

"You don't know that. LaRoche isn't Bosco."

He chuckled at her credulity. "Oh yes I do know. LaRoche is an even sneakier bastard. At least Bosco had principles. You know what Bosco said to me on his death bed, Lisbon?"

Lisbon held her breath. Here was another secret he'd been keeping from her. "What?" she prompted in a whisper.

"He told me that Red John likely had plants all over law enforcement. That anyone could be his mole and we wouldn't know it, just like his own secretary was sent in to gain his trust and then shoot him down. Just like someone on the inside killed Todd Johnson. Maybe it was even LaRoche himself. Bosco told me not to trust anyone."

"But it was Hightower who killed Johnson, remember? You know, the woman who took you hostage so she could get away with murdering her lover's killer?"

He turned toward her, and realized that this was it. He was giving up on trying to run around LaRoche, and the law and…Lisbon. He'd thought that maybe, with Minnelli back onboard, he'd be able to have someone he trusted handling Red John. But with LaRoche still in, that wasn't to be. He'd run out of ideas. Hightower was right; he couldn't do this alone anymore.

"No," he said. "It wasn't her. Johnson worked for Red John, and someone killed him to shut him up. Hightower was set up to take the blame, and I helped her escape."

She looked at him in stunned silence. Her mind was whirling, her heart pounding. She couldn't even wrap her brain around where to start asking questions. Her overriding feeling, however, was betrayal, and it was in that emotion she found her voice again.

"Why couldn't you tell me about this? Is it because of what Bosco said—trust no one?"

"No, Lisbon. No. It was to keep you safe, I swear. The fewer people who knew, the fewer Red John had to target."

"Where is Hightower now?" Lisbon realized suddenly that she'd been right about her old boss all along. And Jane had let her believe the worst of someone whom she'd just begun to admire. Lisbon didn't know quite how to process that yet.

Jane shook his head. "I don't know where she is. She's with her family in some place safe, I hope. I told her I didn't want to know anything so there was no chance Red John would find out. There's still a mole in the CBI, Lisbon, watching us, reporting back our every move."

A thought occurred to her. "How do you know Johnson worked for Red John? There was nothing about his case that resembled anything Red John's done in the past."

He sighed, then reached for her hand, wincing at the sting from his wounds. "He told me this thing with him was bigger than I could imagine, and on his death bed, he quoted from Blake, just like Red John had. I somehow don't think that was a coincidence, do you?"

"No." Then, a buried memory assailed her, bringing forth a chill of dread. "Gale Bertram quoted Blake to me the night Hightower escaped."

"What?" It was Jane's turn to feel shocked. "What did he say?"

She shook her head. "I can't remember, but LaRoche was there. Maybe he can tell us."

"We can't ask him, Lisbon. He may be our mole."

"But I can't remember on my own. Too much time has passed, and at the time I didn't find it significant. If only you'd told me about Red John's penchant for Blake, we would have been able to pounce on that lead right away. See what your secrecy has done!"

"I'll get my Blake books, and you can look over his poems, maybe recognize the words. And if that fails, I'll hypnotize it out of you."

She nodded, and he felt such an overwhelming feeling of love for her, that he reached for her, gathering her into his arms and holding on tightly. But despite the partial feeling of relief, he was also feeling intense fear. "Oh, God, Teresa, I'm so sorry. For all of this."

She pulled away slightly to look at him. "I know you had your reasons for keeping these things from me, but I hope you know now how misguided you've been. I'm a damn good investigator myself, and by not sharing this, you might have kept me from seeing other clues. Now…is there anything else?"

She could tell by his guarded expression that there was. Then, surprising them both, a slow grin spread across his face at the memory of his Christmastime visit with Minnelli.

"Well," he began, "there's the matter of a certain list…"

A/N: Okay, all the cats are out of the bag (being a cat lover, I hate that expression, by the way). Anyway, the next chapters will deal with the fallout of all Jane's revelations, as well as LaRoche's injury. I hope you liked this chapter enough to review. Thanks in advance!


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: I was wondering if everyone had forgotten this story, so wasn't I surprised when I awoke to the wonderful gift of your heavenly reviews! Thanks so much for lifting my spirits and rewarding my efforts, and to those who have consistently and lovingly left your thoughts. Just for that, I give you another chapter (that's three since Sunday!). I hope you will be thanking me later, especially after you see why this chapter deserves a big, whopping **M**!

Chapter 12

Neither of them spoke as they stood over the empty men's room sink, Lisbon having grabbed the first aid kit from the break room and led Jane there to take care of his minor wounds. He allowed her to wash and dry them carefully, apply a soothing salve, and wrap the sore areas of his hand where he'd held the bolt cutters. She was glad for something to occupy herself so that she could think about all Jane had told her. She was still in shock at the enormity of his lies and omissions, and her emotions were all over the place. She was angry. She was hurt. She felt betrayed. She felt grateful that he finally trusted her enough to share what he'd been keeping from her, but she also felt afraid, because as he had told her, knowledge may be power, but it also meant danger where Red John was concerned. She wasn't just thinking of herself, either. If the serial killer found out all that Jane (and now she) knew, he might quit toying with them and move in for the kill.

She took each emotion in turn. Anger would get her nowhere. It would alienate Jane and maybe throw him back into the same old pattern of hiding things from her. Feeling hurt was the most justified emotion, she supposed. He could have told her all of this a long time ago, as it was happening. She thought their relationship was closer than that, but he had major trust issues, and was protective of anything concerning Red John to the point of possibly losing all other, healthier relationships. Betrayal? Yes, she had a right to feel that too, but she knew he wasn't keeping information from her to hurt her. He was misguidedly trying to protect her, but she wasn't fooling herself; he was also trying to protect his own ass as well as allowing himself to do whatever he wanted with the information.

And then there was fear. Red John had killed people for even the possibility that they might talk. And, given the number of bodies he'd racked up within law enforcement, she knew he'd have no qualms in killing her. If he knew she was involved romantically with Jane, Red John might take particular pleasure in carving her up just to hurt Jane. Actually, her fear was more for Jane, for him getting himself killed in his zealous efforts to be one step ahead of the murderer.

She finished her nursing, bringing Jane's bandaged hands to her lips. She looked into his tired, sea blue eyes, and remembered to express her gratitude. "Thank you for telling me all this. I know it wasn't easy for you, but we have a clean slate now, Jane," she said. "The next time Red John strikes, we'll both be as ready as we can be. But…we would only be stronger if we filled in the rest of the team."

"No!" his voice echoed in the stark bathroom. "No," he said more calmly, breaking away from her and pacing across the tiled floor. "For one, I don't want to risk their lives for this. One slip—even a minor one—could lead to their deaths. I won't have that on my conscience, will you?" He didn't even register the slow shaking of her head. "And for another thing—one of them could be the mole, as painful and outrageous as that might seem. They all had opportunity. We've both seen how Red John is a master of manipulation. I'm convinced he has the ability to brainwash, to hypnotize, to make his minions believe that what he stands for is worth dying for. That kind of power is stronger than any one of the team, don't you see? So, no. It's just you and me, Lisbon. That's where this circle of information must end. Do we agree on this?"

He walked back to her, both bandaged hands going up to her cheeks. "Are we agreed?" he whispered urgently.

His eyes bored into hers, and she knew that if she didn't agree, she'd be out of the loop again herself. There was no compromising with him on this, no way to reason with him when it concerned Red John. "Agreed," she said at last, watching the relief wash over him.

He lightly kissed her lips, then leaned his forehead against hers. "Okay. So now we just bide our time, be watchful for any other clues, be vigilant in noticing tell-tale signs of our mole." He kissed her forehead and reluctantly stepped away. It wouldn't do for more people to catch them in a compromising position.

"What about LaRoche?" she asked, repacking the medical kit. She'd been so immersed in Jane's Red John information, that she hadn't taken the time to fully experience the deep humiliation she was feeling that her boss had seen her naked, wantonly giving herself to Jane on the bullpen couch. She shuddered in horror. He saw her expression, and knew instinctively that she was replaying their interlude of last week in her mind. He didn't blame her though; he'd thought of it frequently himself.

"What about him, Lisbon?"

"Stop smiling, Jane. That was all your fault. You seduced me, made me forget where we were. Talk about manipulation and brainwashing."

He chuckled. "Don't put all of it on me, Teresa. Those were your legs wrapped around my waist, as I recall."

She flushed a deep scarlet. "I want you to break into his office and find that tape." She couldn't believe she'd just told him to do something overtly illegal.

"That would be pointless," he said, not blinking an eye at her request. "He hasn't hidden it in his office; he's too smart for that. It's probably at his house, locked in a safe or something next to his mama's prize winning recipe for shrimp gumbo and his dog show ribbons. Let him have it. It'll warm his lonely nights once Jessie wises up and leaves him."

"That's sick, Jane. The very idea of him watching us—"

Jane shrugged nonchalantly, his eyes going dark as he looked at her. "I'm not ashamed of it. I'm betting it's totally hot." When she avoided his heated gaze, he grinned at her embarrassment.

"It's not that I'm ashamed, per se," she hedged. "I just hate that he has this power over us. He could ruin both our careers in an instant, and I don't think he's bluffing."

"No, I'm sure he's not. I've been thinking that my plan could still work, though. All we have to do is sit back and wait for him to screw up again. Jessie's got him so flustered he's bound to make more mistakes. Love does that to people," he finished meaningfully. "Witness how the ever in control Agent Lisbon totally lost her inhibitions on that office couch not so long ago."

She snapped shut the lid on the small white box and held it by the handle, preparing to leave the men's room. Her heart pounded at his words, and a wave of longing washed over her. Before she could over think it, the words tumbled out of her mouth. "Come home with me," she said.

His eyes widened at the unexpected invitation. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly very dry. "Are you sure?" he asked, giving her an out, though his pulse quickened at the thought of being in her arms again, burying himself inside her warmth, her goodness.

"Yes," she breathed.

He walked over to her, holding out his arm to her in a courtly gesture, as if they were going to a ball rather than back to her place for some wild makeup sex.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They nearly didn't make it to her bed. Actually, they almost didn't make it to her apartment. The entire drive from HQ had been one long foreplay session. She'd asked him to drive, and he hadn't been quite sure why she'd allowed him such a rare privilege, until she'd slid across the seat of his Citroen at the first red light and began nibbling on his right ear, while one dainty hand alighted on the front of his trousers.

"Lisbon," he chided, both shocked and pleased at her naughty behavior.

"Hmmm…"her hum vibrated into his ear, and he shivered, then caught his breath as her hand moved to his zipper. His own hands gripped the steering wheel and his eyes closed in ecstasy. That is, until the car behind them honked when the light turned green. They both jumped, and Jane's foot fell heavily on the gas pedal, jerking the car into motion. Lisbon chuckled softly, and slipped her hand inside his pants. The feel of warm skin on skin had Jane pressing even harder on the accelerator.

"You'd better slow down, woman, or there's either gonna be an accident with the car, or one in my pants."

"Or both," she said saucily, but she removed her hand after one more affectionate squeeze, which had him shaking in reaction. Lisbon looked up to see they still had several blocks to go to her apartment, and her wandering hand found its way to his vest, quickly unbuttoning it, then working on the buttons on his blue dress shirt. His stomach trembled as she trailed a finger across the muscles there, then moved up to play with his flat nipples.

"You realize you're gonna pay dearly for this teasing," he panted. She parted his shirt and ducked beneath his arm, flicking her tongue where her fingers had just been. He gasped.

"I'm counting on it," she replied wickedly, attempting to move away again, but he held her head there, and she gladly obliged him. By the time he pulled into her apartment complex parking lot, they were both mindless with unfulfilled desire. It was a wonder they'd gotten there alive, let alone that a cop hadn't pulled him over for his erratic driving.

Jane put the car in park and pushed Lisbon unceremoniously down onto the seat, practically throwing himself on top of her, ravishing her mouth like the madman she'd worked him up to. She kissed him back, relishing the taste of his madness on her tongue, feeling so powerful because she was the one who'd put him in this state.

"Jane," she said. "Let's go inside. I really don't want to be caught parking like a horny teenager." Never mind that this was how they were both feeling at the moment.

"You started this, sweetheart," he murmured between drugging kisses.

"But think how much better it will be in a soft, warm bed," she coaxed. "Think of the back pain you'll avoid."

He raised up from her tempting lips to look at her, his slumberous eyes sparkling with humor. "Are you calling me old?"

"Not at all, Mr. Forty-something," she smirked.

He suddenly became acutely aware of the steering wheel digging into his back, as well as his uncomfortably cramped legs. He grinned, then kissed her nose affectionately. "When you're right, you're right."

He slowly rose up, gingerly sitting back in his seat with a moan. He took a deep breath, then opened the driver's side door. Lisbon hadn't waited for him to let her out, but had run ahead to her apartment door, giggling girlishly when he tried to catch up with her. He was only a few years older than she, but they both knew she was in much better shape. Just as she got the door open, he slammed into her from behind and fell on top of her into the small foyer, catching himself at the last minute from crushing her petite frame beneath him.

She groaned at the sudden pain she'd felt when she hit the floor. "Now who's old," he huffed into the back of her neck. He kicked the door closed and turned her over to face him, pulling her like a rag doll to the slightly more comfortable carpet. He'd knocked the wind out of her, and she was struggling to catch her breath.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked in concern.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that," she gasped, "_Grandpa_?"

The dangerous expression of a challenged Jane made Lisbon's heart skip a beat. Next thing she knew, he'd taken her breath away again as he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She laughed and he swatted her behind, none too gently either. She yelped in surprised anger. "Hey!"

"You deserved that and more for your teasing and your sassy mouth," he chided, but she could hear the laughter in his voice.

"Put me down and you can punish me however you want."

She was little more than a feather in his arms, and she bounced against his shoulder on the way down the hall to her bedroom. But the expected toss onto the bed didn't come, and he set her gently on her feet, a wide grin complementing the passion in his eyes. "You promise?" he asked.

She smiled in return and sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling him down with her by his unbuttoned vest. "I promise."

They picked up right where they'd left off in his car, only this time, Jane instigated the teasing. He started with her neck, dropping tender kisses lower and lower until he reached her delicate clavicle. She was wearing a button-up blouse for a change, and he began releasing each button, his eyes on hers as their loud breathing filled the room. The front clasp of her bra came next, and Jane focused his attention on her small, beautifully shaped breasts until she was holding his head closer, her hands gripping his curls while she cried out her desire.

She'd been ready for him since their time in the car, and it was truly torturous to both of them that he continued his sensual foray across her body. In an effort to hasten things along, she reached up and slipped his vest and shirt the rest of the way off, then moved to release the button of his pants, filling her hands with his hardness. A growl tore from his throat, and he was suddenly finished toying with her. They became frenzied in their haste, clothes flying around the room until they fell upon each other again, naked and ready. He sat up in the middle of the bed, pulling her up until she faced him, and with a quick movement of his hands at her hips, he joined with her with a welcoming moan. He stilled as she adjusted to the way he filled her.

"Open your eyes, Teresa," he whispered, and green eyes met blue in the dim moonlight that streamed in through the bedroom window.

In a beautiful display of give and take, they moved together as one, her hands on his shoulders, his at her waist, as he plunged into her more deeply with every smooth stroke. All the while, their eyes stayed locked on each other's faces. He watched her as she gasped when he hit just the right place, and gasped again when he twisted a little and found the spot again. He couldn't help his small smile as her kiss- swollen lips formed an impassioned _O,_ and he observed in fascination as the climax hit her and she reflexively closed her eyes against the onslaught of her pleasure.

The way she contracted around him did away with the last vestiges of his own control, and he allowed himself to freefall over the edge, his body quaking and a light sheen of perspiration covering them both. His final strokes became wilder and faster, and he pinned her to the bed with a shout of joyful release.

For once, there had been nothing standing between them—no secrets, no lies, no guilt—and Jane had never known such freedom with a woman, not even with his wife. But he pushed aside that troubling thought to nuzzle into Lisbon's damp neck, to savor the way her arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer while his body remained joined with hers.

"I love you," he heard her say. His arms tightened around her, and his mouth rested near her ear.

"I love you too, Lisbon."

They stayed that way, long after their heartbeats slowed and their bodies cooled, long after both had fallen into a contented sleep.

A/N: Reviews are almost as good as—okay, not _quite_ that good. What? I meant chocolate. Get your minds out of the gutter, will ya? Sheesh!

The next chapter will be the last of this fic. One fiftieth birthday party, coming right up! Thanks for reading.


	13. Conclusion and Epilogue

A/N: And so we come to the conclusion of another story in my AU series. Some of you expressed doubts that I could finish it in one more chapter. Ah, ye of little faith, lol.

**Chapter 13: Conclusion and Epilogue**

The week that followed was nearly perfect in Patrick Jane's world. He was so happy he could hardly believe it was real. LaRoche remained in the hospital, leaving Lisbon as temporary lead agent for the Serious Crimes Unit. They'd had two cases in one week, each brilliantly solved by him if he did say so himself (and he did, quite frequently).

As for he and Lisbon-they'd spent nearly every night in each other's arms, and things in that department couldn't have been better. He felt so free with her, so in love, and he knew his demeanor reflected it. He was even more charming than usual. He'd gone back to showing off his magic and mentalist skills to the team, and even played a practical joke on Rigsby his first day back from suspension, much to the delight of everyone in the office. In fact, Jane seemed so happy that Rigsby and Van Pelt began to get suspicious.

"Hey," Rigsby said, as Jane lay on his couch, hands laced behind his head, whistling softly to himself. "You seem awfully happy lately. What gives? You seeing someone?"

All eyes went to him, including Lisbon's, as she came into the bullpen with her morning coffee.

Jane grinned mysteriously, but in the spirit of his new honesty, he couldn't bring himself to lie. "Yes I am, as a matter of fact," he replied. Lisbon valiantly tried not to choke on her coffee.

"Well, who is she?" Van Pelt asked excitedly. Engaged women want everyone to be happy, just like they were.

"Just a woman I've known for awhile."

"Really?" said Rigsby. "What's she like?"

"She's lovely and kind. Very smart. She doesn't put up with my crap, I can tell you that much."

"She sounds amazing," Lisbon said. "But can she kick your ass when you need it?"

Jane chuckled, enjoying playing along with her. He sat up and his eyes wandered to Cho, seemingly minding his own business, but with an amused smirk hovering around his lips. Jane's grin grew. "Oh, she can kick my ass, alright. But she knows I secretly enjoy it."

Rigsby laughed, his mouth full of donut. "Whipped already, eh?" he said when he'd swallowed the bite.

"You don't know the half of it."

"Well when can we meet this beautiful, kick-ass paragon?" inquired Grace.

"I don't know. She likes her privacy. I'm just enjoying myself while it lasts."

"While it lasts?" repeated Lisbon, trying hard to keep her voice neutral. "So it's nothing serious?"

"Oh, it's serious, alright. I actually think she might be the one, if she loosens up a little and gets over a few hang-ups she has."

"Hang-ups?" said Rigsby. "Like what? Problems in the bedroom?"

Van Pelt threw her pencil at him for the highly inappropriate remark. He dodged it neatly and laughed. Lisbon had gone totally still, waiting for what he might possibly say that wouldn't result in a pummeling later.

"Oh, no problems there. She's actually a tigress in the bedroom, let me tell you." Jane was pleased at Lisbon's light flush. "No, she can't come to grips with what I do. There's a lot of lying and subterfuge in my job, and she can't understand that sometimes the ends justify the means."

"They don't usually," said Lisbon, her mouth forming a thin line.

"Like our case the other day,"Jane continued, undaunted. "When I had to lie to a woman, say her husband was dead, in order to flush out the killer. That kind of thing."

"It was cruel and it was unnecessary," Lisbon ground out. "I don't blame this _girlfriend _of yours for feeling the same way."

"Hey," Rigsby said. "This woman sounds like she and the boss would hit it off."

"Nah," Jane replied, "they're nothing alike. She's much more beautiful than prim and proper Agent Lisbon here. No offense, Teresa."

"None taken," she said slyly, moving on toward her office. He hoped no one else noticed the sensual look she shot him before she turned to leave. Jane looked hurriedly away from her swinging hips, and he felt his own face begin to flush at his wicked thoughts. He shot Van Pelt a friendly wink, then went back to ruminating on his couch. If he listened closely, he could just make out Cho's amused chuckle.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That afternoon, Jessie Lynch walked hesitantly into the bullpen. Van Pelt greeted the woman fondly, and the others nodded politely.

"How's J.J.?" asked Jane, tongue firmly in cheek.

"Oh, he gets to come home today. He's feeling much better, and even started a little light physical therapy yesterday. He should be up and around in no time. But I'm here because I still plan to have that birthday party for him. It's been put off a week, of course, and John will have to arrive in a wheelchair, but I really think it would lift his spirits. I know things are a little tense between you all, but would you still consider coming? Nothing on par with what we'd planned before. Just a small gathering at my restaurant with a few friends and coworkers. So, what do you say?"

"We'd love to come," answered Van Pelt for them all. "Wouldn't we guys?"

"Sure," said Rigsby.

"Okay," responded Cho.

Jessie turned to Jane, who was sitting on his couch, drinking tea. "I'm not sure my presence would be very conducive to J.J.'s recovery," he said, setting his cup on the saucer in his lap.

"I know you boys have had your differences, but I think you'll be surprised at how much he's changed over the last week. This injury might even be a blessing in disguise, if you take my meaning."

Jane considered it, realizing he wanted to see for himself how much LaRoche could have changed in so little time. He didn't believe it was possible. "Fine. I'll be there. But don't blame me if it upsets us both."

Jessie walked over to the couch. "May I sit?" she asked.

"Of course."

"I just want to thank you for bringing me back into John's life again," she said softly. "He claims you did it to mess with him, but I don't really care about that now." Jane watched in dismay as her eyes welled up with tears. He reached awkwardly into his pocket for his hankie, handing it to her. The others in the room pretended not to be hanging on every word. "I am happier than I've been in years, thanks to you. I just want you two to get past your differences and be friends."

"I don't know, Jessie. Words have been exchanged…"

She laid a pleading hand on his thigh. "Just come to the party and try, won't you? I think you owe it to me, an innocent bystander in all this drama."

Jane smiled gently. "You're right. I'll come, and be on my best behavior if he will. That's all I can promise."

She smiled brilliantly through her tears, dimpling prettily. "Thank you, Patrick! I told him you were a good man at heart!" She leaned over and kissed his cheek, her gardenia perfume filling his nose, her enticing décolletage pressing against his arm. He waved away the offer to return his handkerchief, and rose to see her off, as she waved goodbye to the rest of the team. Lisbon, who had been hovering around the bullpen door, chose that moment to step back in. She hadn't liked the way the curvy woman had pressed herself against Jane. He caught her eye and she just knew he was reading her mind again, for he grinned in that knowing, annoying way he had.

"Did you really track her down to try to make LaRoche miserable?" asked Van Pelt, her tone highly accusatory.

"I cannot tell a lie, Grace. That was the plan."

"Looks to me like it backfired," said Cho, with some satisfaction.

"We'll see," said Jane optimistically. He sipped his tea and smiled at the world in general.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Miss Jessie's_ was generally closed on Mondays, but that night, it was open in honor of J.J. LaRoche's belated fiftieth birthday party. In attendance were the Serious Crimes Unit, Director Betram and his pilot fish of an aide, a few of LaRoche's friends from Internal Affairs, as well as his next-door-neighbor, an elderly lady with a fondness for cats. Jessie and her staff had prepared all of LaRoche's favorite Creole and Cajun dishes, including crawfish and alligator bites for hors d'oeuvre, and an open bar.

Rigsby and Jane had stationed themselves near the food, and were busy grazing when the guest of honor arrived in his wheelchair, Jessie pushing him into the dining room. Everyone clapped politely, then mingled until dinner was served. Jane pointedly stayed away from the birthday boy, and Lisbon soon joined him at their table, still in the same clothing from work.

"Being a good boy?" she asked him, taking a sip of white wine.

Jane grinned. "Of course. I promised, didn't I?"

Cho, Van Pelt, and Bertram joined them. When everyone else was seated, Jessie stood up near LaRoche at a nearby table and tapped her glass for attention. The party grew silent.

"I just wanted to thank all of you for coming to celebrate John's big five-0. It's been a tough couple of weeks, but he is recovering very well, and I'm sure it's due to all your prayers and good wishes. Please, enjoy your meal, and be sure to let me or my staff know if we can do anything for you."

More applause, and dinner was served.

"This is really good," Lisbon was saying. "A little spicy, but good." She took another sip of wine, and Jane was looking forward to enjoying later the effects alcohol usually had on her. Everyone at their table spoke mostly about work, the weather, the food, the restaurant, so that by the time the cake was rolled in, Jane was exceptionally bored.

They all sang _Happy Birthday_, and LaRoche blew out the single candle formed into the number fifty. It was LaRoche's turn to make a speech. He sat in his chair like a king on his throne, still not quite able to stand on his own.

"I'd like to reiterate Jessie's words of thanks for everyone coming tonight. It's great to know I have this great support system. I especially want to thank Patrick Jane, whom I surprisingly find myself in debt to. You see, he brought Jessie back into my life, and is responsible for coming up with the initial idea of this party. So, thank you, Jane." Everyone clapped and smiled at the happy couple, and nodded in Jane's direction. "Also," LaRoche continued, "I have a couple of announcements. I've already spoken to Director Bertram about this, so I have his approval." He took a deep breath. "I've given the CBI my two weeks' notice. Once I am back on my feet, I'll be starting work at the Louisiana Bureau in Baton Rouge. It's strictly a desk job, so no more field work for me. You all saw how that last mission turned out." There was scattered laughter, but mostly everyone was dealing with the surprise of his announcement. He smiled and continued his monologue, Jane now sitting up straighter, no longer the least bit bored.

"And Jessie…well she is coming with me to open another restaurant there. I imagine she'll be back to Sacramento quite often to make sure all is well with this restaurant, so you employees, don't be afraid you'll be looking for a new job too." Jessie smiled and nodded at the wait staff.

"But there's one last thing…" LaRoche reached into his suit pocket and brought out a small box. "Jess, come here for a minute. I wish I could get down on one knee and do this thing right, but, well, I'm sure you understand. I've wanted to marry you from the day we met so long ago, but I was stupid, and chose the wishes of my mother over the woman I love. Well, I've made the choice now to choose you over my job, and I plan to devote the rest of my life to making you happy. Jessie Lynch, will you marry me?"

Van Pelt reached for her napkin to wipe her eyes, and Jane and Lisbon looked at each other in something akin to awe. Jessie, however, gasped in surprise, taking a moment to formulate a coherent reply.

"Yes, John. You know I will!" She held out a slightly shaking left hand for LaRoche to slip the multi-karat diamond upon, then leaned over to take his cheeks in her hands and give him a kiss so sexy, some of the men were shifting a bit in their chairs.

The small crowd clapped wildly, and wolf whistles abounded. Jane was the only one who sat quietly, but his smile was wide as he sipped his wine. "All's well that ends well," he murmured to Lisbon, slipping his hand in hers under cover of the tablecloth.

"You are one lucky bastard," she replied, her own grin bringing out her dimples. She lifted her glass in a silent toast.

Cho was shaking his head in disbelief, and Rigsby gladly pocketed the twenty-dollar bill Cho forked over.

Several people got up to congratulate the happy couple, a few of whom had known Jessie back when she and LaRoche had dated before. After the wait staff served the coffee and coconut cake, the crowd began to thin out, and Jane found a moment to slip over to LaRoche for a private word. He held out his hand, watching it disappear into the big man's white paw.

"Congratulations, J.J.," he said, his happiness at the man's impending departure making his words sound almost sincere.

"Thank you, Jane. Oh, and I have something for you. Sort of a parting gift, to show there are no hard feelings." He fished around in the space between his hip and the side of his wheelchair, and brought out a videocassette-shaped padded envelope. Jane was seldom surprised, let alone twice in one evening. He took the peace offering and shook the man's hand again. "I hope you and Jessie will be very happy in Louisiana."

"And I wish you and Lisbon good luck with…whatever," he said softly, so no one else would overhear. Jane grinned.

"It sounds like you actually mean it. Good-bye, J.J. It's been…_interesting_ knowing you."

Jane approached Jessie with a fond kiss on the cheek, nodded to the rest of the gang, and left the brightly lit restaurant. He found Lisbon leaning against the side of his car.

"You'd better drive me home, Jane. I think I've had too much to drink."

"Certainly, my dear," he said, opening the door for her. Once inside, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately in the darkness of the car. When he finally pulled away, she was looking at him with desire-glazed eyes. Jane laughed with profound joy, then tossed the tape in the back seat. He was suddenly very much in the mood to celebrate.

**EPILOGUE**

_Three weeks later…_

Gale Bertram left Agent Lisbon's office after delivering the good news that she was now the Senior Agent in charge of the Serious Crimes Unit, and that Agent Cho was her official second in command as team leader. She seemed happy with the promotion, but insisted that she be allowed to be in the field just as before with the rest of her team.

Bertram had tried to convince Virgil Minelli to come back and reassume his old position. The retired agent had thanked him for the offer, but said he was planning to open a private investigations firm. There wasn't enough money, he had told Bertram, to get him to revisit the stress his former job had piled upon him (though Minelli's actual words had been much more colorful).

The next obvious choice had been Teresa Lisbon. True, she was very young, but she was a tough little lady, and very by the book, except when it came to Patrick Jane, that is. He shrugged. He didn't care for the ex-psychic personally, but the man sure did make the CBI look good. Bertram supposed there were worse weaknesses a senior agent could have.

Bertram stopped by his assistant's desk, took a small stack of messages, and a thin manila envelope postmarked _Baton Rouge,_ with the words _Personal and Private_ stamped in red. He entered his interior office, sitting at his desk and reaching for the letter opener. He reached inside the envelope and pulled out a type-written letter, which was paper-clipped to three photographs.

He read the letter first:

_Director Bertram,_

_I thought you might be interested in these photographs. I'm sure you'll do with them what you think is best. Might I suggest, however, that you save them for a rainy day. Everyone needs a good insurance policy. _

_Sincerely,_

_J. J. LaRoche_

Curiously, Bertram lifted the cover letter, and was quite shocked to find a graphic photo of his new senior agent in charge in a very compromising position beneath the CBI's best consultant. The picture was dated five weeks before. The other two pictures were close-ups of the couple's faces, so there would be no doubt as to whom it was having sex on the Serious Crimes Unit's bullpen couch. Bertram tapped the pictures against his desk, lost in thought.

He was at once sorry to have allowed J.J. LaRoche to get away. Such a proactive, far thinking agent was quite a valuable asset in these troubled times. Making a decision, Bertram opened the filing cabinet that contained personnel files, flipping through them until he found the folder labeled _Teresa Lisbon_. LaRoche was right. It was always good to plan for the future.

**THE END**

A/N: Thanks so much to all who have read, reviewed, and supported this story. I hope you had fun reading it, because it certainly was a challenge for me to write. And now, we await the finale with a mixture of excitement and dread. I'm not sure if I'll be up to writing a tag for that episode, but if I do, I hope to see you all there. Thanks again for reading this!


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